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I     LIBRARY    ] 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
I  CALIFORNIA 

*  SAN  niFnn 


.       SAN  DIEGO       : 


IS152 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  MASQUE,  AND 
OTHER   POEMS 


BY 


EDITH    M.  THOMAS 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

New  York:    11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

STlje  Bifocrstfie  ^rcss,  Camfin'Sge 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  EDITH  M.  THOMAS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Rh-erside  Preit,  Cambridge: 
Printed  by  II.  0.  Iloughtoii  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  MASQUE 1 

SAGE  OR  POET 9 

HAD  I  WIST 11 

EXILES 13 

EXORCISM 14 

VESTA 15 

DOOM 17 

VOICES  OF  THE  WAY 18 

$ 20 

NOBLESSE  OBLIGE 21 

A  FRIEND  AT  COURT 22 

FlRE-WORSHIP 23 

DEW  OF  PARNASSUS 25 

THE  REPLY  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  TO  THE  PASSIOX- 

ATE  SHEPHERD 27 

OMENS 29 

THE  WEATHER-VANE 30 

YOUTH  IN  AGE 32 

FLOWN  BIRDS 34 

ST.  CECILIA 35 

LIFE  AND  DEATH 37 

INAUGURAL 39 

CUTHBERT 41 

(iii) 


IV  CONTENTS. 

THE  FIRESIDE  IN  THE  SNOW 43 

THE  CHRYSANTHEMUM 45 

THEANO 47 

A  SONG  OF  REST 48 

FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM 50 

MENDING  THE  ROSE 52 

THE  NIGHT  WIND 53 

POPPIES  IN  OUR  WHEAT 54 

APRIL  CAPRICES 55 

A  RAINBOW 57 

A  BEE  IN  MY  BONNET 58 

DlABLEHIE 59 

SlNG-IN-THE-WlNTER 61 

GAFFER  TIME 03 

A  LIGHT  ROUND 64 

SPEEDWELL 66 

LAUREL 67 

MUSAGETES 68 

SYRINX 69 

SOUTH  AND  WEST 71 

A  PARALLEL 73 

SUB  ROSA 74 

AT  THE  SPUING 76 

THE  ELFIN  KNIGHT 78 

ACROSS  THE  WORLD  I  SPEAK  TO  THEE 80 

THE  BIRCH  TF.EE 81 

THE  MOURNING  DOVE 82 

DEAD  LOVE 83 

OUT  OF  THE  SEA 85 

THE  STIRRUP-CUP 86 

PATMOS 88 

OAK-CORN 90 

Moss    .  .  92 


CONTENTS  v 

NATURE 94 

LIFE  HATH  PUT  DEATH  AWAY 96 

THE  GKASSHOPPER 97 

A  CHARGE  TO  THE  BEES 99 

WILD  HONEY 100 

THE  EEFUGE 102 

VERTUMNUS 104 

FLOWER  AND  FRUIT 106 

DEMETER'S   SEARCH 107 

PERSEPHONE Ill 

LlTYERSES  AND  THE  REAPERS 113 

SOMETHING  PASSES 116 

SONNETS. 

DELAY 118 

EPHEMERA 119 

THE  FOUNTAINS  OF  THE  RAIN 120 

FROST 121 

EQUINOX 122 

PYRKHUS'  RING 123 

HOMESICK 124 

MASTER  SPIRITS 125 

SOLITUDE 12(j 

OCCASION 127 

THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 128 

ROTATION 129 

REVENGE 130 

POVERTY 131 

THE  OREAD 132 

ON  THE  SONNET 133 

To  SLEEP 134 

ON  SEVERN'S  LAST  SKETCH  OF  KEATS        .        .        .        .135 

DAWK 136 

To  FAME  .        .  137 


A   NEW   YEAR'S   MASQUE, 

AND   OTHER  POEMS. 
A  NEW  YEAR'S  MASQUE. 

A  closed  portal.     JANUS  heard  chanting. 
I  KEEP  the  gate  through  which  the  Morning  comes, 
By  lightsome  Hours  attended  on  her  rounds  ; 
These,  ever  as  they  pass,  a  gate-fee  pay 
In  silver  coinage  of  sweet  melody, 
In  roses  strewn,  in  fragrant  balms  and  spice. 
'Tis  mine  to  guard  the  portal  of  the  year, 
To  close  or  open  to  the  seasons  four 
And  to  the  importuning  throng  of  days. 
Sometimes  I  hear  the  tread  of  stormy  feet, 
Hoarse  trumpet  blasts,  and  loud,  assaulting  blows, 
And  threats  to  pull  my  ancient  fortress  down ; 
But  other  times  they  come  with  flatteries  smooth, 
Entreating,  "  Janus,  Janus,  let  us  in  !  " 
I  watchful  stand  ;  I  will  not  turn  the  key 
Until  my  glass  and  fingered  dial  stern 
Declare  the  moment  ripe.     Two  ways  I  look, 
Two  faces  I  present :  one  seamed  with  eld, 
1 


A  NEW    TEAM'S  MASQUE. 

And  gray  with  looking  on  the  frozen  past ; 
One  fresh  as  morn,  and  fronting  days  to  be. 
But,  softly !  hither  come  the  elfin  folk, 
Whom  I  did  promise  I  would  entertain 
Upon  this  eve  with  pageant  rare  and  strange. 
'T  is  now  the  time  my  spells  most  potent  work,  - 
Now,  while  the  surging,  deep-toned  bells  lament 
The  passed  year,  ere,  fickle,  they  shall  change 
Their  solemn  burden  for  a  round  of  joy, 
Chiming  the  praises  of  the  year  new-crowned. 

THE    BELLS. 

Toll,  toll, 
Speed  to  its  goal, 
The  sacred  soul 

Of  the  Year. 

Mortals,  attend, 
Let  prayers  ascend 
For  this  your  friend 

Without  peer. 

A  VOICE  IN  AIR. 
Light,  light, 
I  take  my  flight 
Up  through  the  night, 
Starry  clear. 

Mortal  no  more, 
I  onward  soar, 
While,  just  before, 

Flies  the  Year. 


A   NEW   YEAR'S   MASQUE.  8 

The  door  is  opened.    Enter  a  troop  of  Elves.    They  salute  JANUS, 
and  present  gifts. 

Hear  us,  keeper  of  the  door, 
Janus,  skilled  in  magic  lore,  — 
Thou  who  dost,  with  iron  key, 
Or  imprison  or  set  free  ; 
Thou  to  whom  the  journeying  Year 
Doth  at  every  stage  appear, 
And  to  whom  the  seasons  bow, 
Bringing  gifts,  as  we  do  now ; 
Thou  that  holdest  in  thy  gaze 
Both  the  gone  and  coming  days, 
Grant  to  us  such  vision  clear  ; 
Father  of  the  Morning,  hear  ! 

JANUS. 

I  will,  in  part,  content  you,  curious  elves. 
Then,  stand  ye  here,  so  many  on  my  right, 
So  many  on  my  left :  now,  lift  your  eyes, 
And  send  your  glances  through  the  portal  wide. 
Be  keen  and  true ;  and,  whatsoe'er  ye  see, 
Report  it  to  me  in  alternate  songs. 

They  do  as  bidden.     Visions  of  the  Twelve  Months  pass  be/ore 
them.     They  sing  alternately. 

JANUARY. 

I  see  whirling  phantoms  go 
Through  the  fields  of  drifting  snow  ; 
Huddled  flocks  in  wind-swept  fold, 
Cattle,  sheltering  from  the  cold, 
Underneath  a  roof  of  hay, 
Where  the  stack  is  grazed  away. 


A  NEW   YEARS  MASQUE. 
JULY. 

I  can  see  the  nibbling  flocks, 
Lately  shorn  of  fleecy  locks  ; 
In  the  pool  the  cattle  stand. 
I  see  clover-purpled  land  ; 
Tasseled  maize  and  yellow  grain, 
Gleam  of  sickle,  harvest  wain. 

FEBRUARY. 

I  behold  the  meteor  glance, 

And  the  merry  dancers  dance 

In  the  cold  Aurora's  light, 

Flinging  wide  their  streamers  bright ; 

And  they  dance  to  whistled  glees 

Of  the  wind  in  winter  trees. 

APRIL. 

I  see  skies  of  cloudless  blue, 
Sunlight  glancing  on  the  dew  ; 
Tender  blades,  too  quickly  grown, 
By  the  south  wind  gently  blown  ; 
Amber  buds  unfolding,  now 
Green  mist  clothes  the  woody  bough. 

OCTOBER. 

I  see  clusters  on  the  vine, 

And  I  breathe  an  air  like  wine  ; 

Golden  pippins  on  the  tree, 

Toiling  presses,  next  I  see  : 

Let  me,  then,  through  strawy  pipe, 

Quaff  the  season  warm  and  ripe  ! 


A  NEW   TEAR'S   MASQUE. 

MAY. 

I  behold  the  building  bird, 
Where  the  leaves  are  lightly  stirred 
Oriole's  nest  in  elm-tree  hung, 
Thrushes  leading  out  their  young ; 
Chimney-swifts,  in  circling  flight, 
Painted  by  the  sunset  light. 

AUGUST. 

I  behold  the  firefly's  lamp 
Waving  in  the  thicket  damp  ; 
Evening-primrose  sudden  bloom 
Mid  the  scented,  sultry  gloom  ; 
Flitting  moths,  with  ruby  eyes  ; 
Folded  bees  and  butterflies. 

NOVEMBER. 

I  see  where  the  meadow-mouse 
Has  its  grassy,  low-domed  house  ; 
Where  its  hoard  the  squirrel  keeps, 
Where  the  furry  marmot  sleeps  ; 
Where,  upon  a  gnarled  limb, 
Sits  the  owl,  in  forest  dim. 

MARCH. 

I  see  many  a  curving  rill, 
Many  a  river,  blind  and  still ; 
Motionless  the  waterfall, 
Chained  against  the  ledgy  wall, 
Like  a  captive  maiden,  there, 
Bound  by  her  long,  flowing  hair. 
1* 


A  NEW   YEAR'S  MASQUE. 
SEPTEMBER. 

I  can  see  the  rain  up-fill 
Every  summer-wasted  rill ; 
Fresh'ning  waters,  as  they  run 
Through  the  shade  and  in  the  sun, 
Till,  at  length,  they  lie  concealed 
Under  rush  or  willow  shield. 

JUNE. 

I  can  see  the  climbing  rose, 
And  the  glances  that  it  throws 
Past  the  casement,  as  to  say, 
"  Gloomy  night  has  flown  away  ; 
How  can  Beauty  keep  her  eye 
Shut  against  this  morning  sky  ?  " 

DECEMBER. 

I  behold  a  ruddy  tide 
Drawing  up  the  chimney  wide, 
And  the  window-pane  embossed 
By  the  night-work  of  the  frost ; 
Scarce  the  moon,  with  prying  beams, 
Can  look  in  where  Beauty  dreams. 

ELVES   IN   CHORUS. 

Father  Janus,  thou  dost  see 
How  so  ill  our  songs  agree  ; 
We  should  bicker  evermore, 
Looking  from  this  charmed  door. 
Tell  us,  who  have  seen  aright, 
Who  were  false  in  speech  or  sight  ? 


A  NEW   YEAR'S   MASQUE. 

JANUS. 

Ye  all  have  rightly  seen,  and  said  aright ; 
No  longer,  then,  among  yourselves  contend  ; 
But  tell  me,  if  ye  can,  0  quick-eyed  elves, 
Who  is  the  royal  stranger  near  at  hand  ? 
Be  ready  ;  greet  him  with  a  roundelay, 
When  ye  have  heard  the  dancing  of  the  bells. 

THE    BELLS. 

Ring,  ring ! 
As  to  a  king, 
Homage  bring ; 

Hail  the  Year ! 

Mortals,  attend, 
Your  voices  lend ; 
'T  is  a  friend 

Without  peer. 

A  VOICE  IN  AIE. 
Light,  light, 
I  take  my  flight 
Down  through  the  night, 
Starry  clear. 

Immortal  I  leave, 
To  mortal  I  cleave  ; 
Me,  Earth,  receive  . 
With  the  Year. 


A  NEW   TEAR'S  MASQUE. 
ONE    OF   THE    ELVES. 

Hail  the  Year !  all  hail  the  Year ! 
Music  of  the  dreaming  sphere 
Greets  thee,  coming  from  the  skies  ; 
Dawn  is  kindled  at  thine  eyes. 
Oh,  we  haste  to  offer  thee 
Elfin  service,  leal  and  free  ! 

Hail  the  Year ! 

JANUS. 

Hail  the  Year  !  all  hail  the  Year ! 
Rule  hy  love,  and  not  by  fear  ; 
Be  thou  clement,  be  thou  just, 
Break  no  mortal's  tender  trust : 
So,  when  thou  to  heaven  ascend, 
Love  and  praise  shall  thee  attend. 
Hail  the  Year ! 


SAGE  OR  POET. 

IN  yon  woody  hermitage 
Dwell  a  poet  and  a  sage  : 
Peaceful  inmates  —  mark  them  well ! 
Room  enough  within  their  cell,  — 
Room  enough  for  courteous  foes. 
In  or  out,  each  singly  goes  : 
Never  yet  the  twain  were  seen 
Walking  in  the  forest  green  ; 
Nor  beneath  the  roof  were  met, 
Though  the  time  were  cold  and  wet. 

Go  there  as  the  poet's  guest, 
Share  his  feast  and  share  his  rest, 
Drinking  many  a  jocund  bout ; 
Stay  until  the  stars  come  out,  — 
Ay,  until  next  morning's  sun, — 
You  '11  not  see  that  other  one, 
Him  of  keen  and  narrow  eye, 
Lip  austere  and  discourse  high. 

Go  there  as  the  sage's  guest, 
He  will  serve  you  with  his  best ; 
Spend  the  white  December  days, 
By  his  crackling  sere-wood  blaze, 
Listening  what  the  wind-harp  sings, 
(9) 


10  SAGE   OR  POET. 

When  the  North  sweeps  o'er  its  strings 

You  may  come,  and  come  again, 

Or  in  sunshine,  snow,  or  rain, 

But  you  may  not  ever  meet, 

At  the  door  or  ingle-seat, 

Him  whose  thought  goes  lighter  shod 

Than  the  plumed  errand-god. 

Read  the  legend  as  you  run : 
Sage  and  poet  are  but  one  ; 
He  you  seek  is  found  within,  — 
Sage  and  poet  know  their  kin. 


HAD  I  WIST! 

ALL  night,  in  rustling  rich  array, 
It  frights  the  timid  Sleep  away  ; 
It  is  not  gone  at  break  of  day, 
It  has  one  word  to  sing  or  say,  — 
Ah,  had  I  wist ! 
It  plucks  the  morning  mist 
From  off  my  hiding-place, 
And  looks  me  in  the  face 
With  well-remembered  grace  ; 
I  know  its  name  and  race,  — 
Ah,  had  I  wist ! 

It  has  a  lodge  beneath  the  eaves  ; 

To  all  my  pleasant  walks  it  cleaves  ; 

And,  faster  than  the  Summer  weaves, 

Undoes  the  boon  of  buds  and  leaves. 
Ah,  had  I  wist ! 
It  calls  me  to  a  tryst 
I  cannot  choose  but  keep  ; 
It  bids  me  not  to  weep, 
It  holdeth  tears  too  cheap 
To  ease  a  cause  so  deep,  — 
Ah,  had  I  wist  ! 
(11) 


12  HAD  I   WIST! 

Its  eyes  are  sometimes  like  Hope's  eyes, 
And  sometimes  like  Love's  in  disguise  ; 
Its  lips  are  cunning  to  devise 
All  kinds  of  subtle  strategies,  — 

Ah,  had  I  wist ! 

It  reads  me  through  the  list 

Of  canceled-out  delight ; 

Too  late  to  set  all  right, 

Or  any  loss  requite, 

It  teaches  craft  and  sleight,  — 

Ah,  had  I  wist ! 

Its  name  between  its  brows  is  set ; 
I  read  its  name,  Vain  Sorrow,  —  yet 
Another  readeth  there  Regret, 
Late  Wisdom  paying  Folly's  debt  — 
Ah,  had  I  wist ! 
There  is  no  votarist, 
That  wears  the  pavement  stone 
In  prayer  and  vigil  lone, 
Such  constancy  hath  shown, 
Such  faithfulness,  I  own,  — 
Ah,  had  I  wist ! 


EXILES. 

THEY  both  are  exiles  ;  he  who  sailed 
Great  circles  of  the  day  and  night, 

Until  the  vapory  bank  unveiled 
A  land  of  palm-trees  fair  to  sight. 

They  both  are  exiles  ;  she  who  still 
Seems  to  herself  to  watch,  ashore, 

The  wind,  too  fain,  his  canvas  fill, 
The  sunset  burning  close  before. 

He  has  no  sight  of  Saxon  face, 

He  hears  a  language  harsh  and  strange ; 
She  has  not  left  her  native  place, 

Yet  all  has  undergone  a  change. 

They  both  are  exiles  ;  nor  have  they 
The  same  stars  shining  in  their  skies ; 

His  nightfall  is  her  dawn  of  day, 

His  day  springs  westward  from  her  eyes ! 

Each  says  apart,  There  is  no  land 

So  far,  so  vastly  desolate, 
But,  had  we  sought  it  hand  in  hand, 

We  both  had  blessed  the  driving  fate. 
2  (13) 


EXORCISM. 

A  FEAR  sat  by  my  door  both  day  and  night ; 

I  could  not  sleep,  nor  food  or  drink  could  taste  ; 
From  dusk  to  dawn  I  kept  a  well-trimmed  light, 

A  double  lock  upon  the  door  I  placed. 

What  could  I  do  ?  First,  idle  songs  I  sung, 
And  strove  to  keep  my  woful  heart  in  cheer ; 

So  trembled  my  unwilling  voice  and  tongue, 
To  him  who  sat  without  't  was  sport  to  hear. 

Next,  I  unto  my  learned  books  did  turn, 

In  hope  some  potent  charm  therefrom  to  read ; 

With  vexed  soul,  I  bade  their  dry  leaves  burn, 
That  could  not  help  me  in  my  utmost  need. 

At  last,  I  thought  't  were  best  my  foe  to  face 
(Bold  had  I  grown  by  counsel  of  despair). 

I  oped  the  door:  the  Fear,  with  mocking  grace, 
Bade  me  good-by,  and  vanished  in  the  air. 

(14) 


VESTA. 

I  SAW  a  city  builded  in  the  fire, 

Entire ; 
Walled  with  live  ember,  that  none  violates 

Its  gates. 
None  egress  may  obtain,  nor  way  therein 

May  win ; 
But  watchmen,  ready  with  the  sword  and  lance, 

Advance. 
On  every  castled  tower  and  parapet 

Are  set 
Banners  of  goodly  crimson,  and  of  white, 

Star-bright : 
And  in  that  city,  fair  with  lambent  heats, 

Are  streets,  — 
Streets  paven,  full  of  stirs,  and  toiling  arts, 

And  marts, 
Villas,  and  gardens  where  the  fountains  play 

Rose  spray, 
And  beds  of  amaranth  wave  to  and  fro, 

Aglow. 
And  in  that  city's  heart  there  is  a  shrine 

Divine, 
Of  ebony  built,  with  great  doors  open  wide, 

Each  side, 
And  pillars  wreathen  with  a  cloudy  gyre 

Of  fire. 
05) 


16  VESTA. 

There  on  the  altar,  in  a  chaliced  urn, 

Doth  burn 
A  spirit  from  the  ether  spaces  sown, 

Unknown  : 
And  maidens  four  the  glowing  germ  preserve, 

And  serve, 
Singing  alway  :  —  Queen  Vesta,  grave  and  dear, 

Dwells  here ; 
Pleasant  the  wreaths  of  frankincense  and  myrrh 

To  her. 
She  hath,  beside,  in  the  deep-caverned  Earth, 

Her  hearth, 
And  luminous  cells  beneath  the  tided  deeps 

She  keeps ; 
The  rolling  planet-fires  are  hers  to  feed, 

And  speed ; 
Hers,  on  the  kindled  plumes  of  birds,  to  fare 

Through  air ; 
Hers,  in  the  pulse  of  all  small  grass  and  plants, 

To  dance ; 
In  man's  heart,  too,  deep  in  its  purple  wells, 

She  dweUs ! 


DOOM. 

THE  doom  of  Oleg  by  a  priest  foretold  : 

"  0  Prince,  if  brief  or  long  thy  years  shall  be, 

Know  this  :  thy  noble  war-steed,  swift  and  bold, 
Shall  bring  thy  death  to  thee." 

"  Not  so  !  "  cried  Oleg,  wroth,  with  flashing  eyes  ; 

"  My  steed  —  best  friend  —  a  traitor's  heart  reveal ! 
I  save  his  honor,  for  this  hour  he  dies  !  " 

And,  saying,  drove  the  steel. 

But  who  the  point  of  fate  can  turn  or  dull  ? 

Years  after,  coming  to  his  charger's  grave, 
A  poison  serpent,  lodged  within  the  skull, 

The  prince  his  death-wound  gave. 

2*  (17) 


VOICES  OF  THE  WAY. 

WHAT  is  the  voice  I  hear, 
Like  the  note  of  a  trumpet  clear,  — 
Follow  the  dreams  of  thy  youth  ! 
And  what  is  that  voice  I  hear, 
Like  the  tone  of  an  angel  austere,  — 
Hollow  the  dreams  of  thy  youth  ! 
Ah,  tell  me  which  is  the  voice  of  truth ! 

Whoso  journeys  this  way 
In  the  prime  and  freshness  of  day, 
When  Fancy  and  Hope  have  sway, 
Hears  only  the  first  voice  say, 
Follow  the  dreams  of  thy  youth  ! 
And  this,  to  him,  is  the  voice  of  truth. 

Whoso,  at  noon  of  the  day, 
Blind  with  the  dust  of  the  fray, 
Passeth  this  mortal  way,  — 
He  heareth  the  second  voice  say, 
Hollow  the  dreams  of  thy  youth  ! 
And  this,  to  him,  is  the  voice  of  truth. 

The  same,  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
When  shadows  lie  cool  on  the  way, 
(18) 


VOICES  OF  THE    WAT.  19 

Hath  visions  of  long-lost  May :  — 
Boyhood  and  Age  both  say, 
Follow  the  dreams  of  thy  youth  ! 
Ah,  tell  me  if  this  be  the  voice  of  truth  ! 


WHEN  Heracles,  the  twelve  great  labors  done, 

To  Calpe  came,  and  there  his  journey  stayed, 
He  raised  two  pillars  toward  the  evening  sun, 
And  carved  them  by  a  goddess'  subtle  aid. 
Upon  their  shafts  were  sacred  legends  traced, 
And  round  the  twain  a  serpent  cincture  placed  : 
'T  was  at  this  bound  the  primal  world  stood  still, 
And  of  Atlantis  dreamed,  with  baffled  will. 

When  the  young  West  arose  from  ocean  hoar, 
The  rich,  the  many-delved,  the  many-sown, 

She  caught  the  symbol  from  the  Old  World  shore, 
And,  past  gainsaying,  made  it  all  her  own  ! 

In  mint  and  mart,  on  every  lading  quay, 

The  pillars  and  the  wreathing  serpent  see  ! 

But  ye,  her  prospered  sons,  do  not  forget, 

Atlantis  lies  beyond  the  pillars  yet ! 
(20) 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

NOBLESSE  oblige.     What  though  ye  gain 
The  sightly  ground  above  the  plain? 
We  wait  to  see  your  signal  glow 
Upon  the  mountain's  ancient  snow  : 
Now  speed,  since  all  return  is  vain. 
If,  looking  downward,  ye  were  fain 
In  the  sweet  valley  to  remain, 
A  voice  would  warn  you  from  below,  — 
Noblesse  oblige  ! 

Ye  burden-bearers,  ne'er  complain, 
Though  more  and  more  ye  must  sustain. 
On  you  their  loads  will  many  throw  ; 
Make  broad  your  shoulders  ;  blessings  go 
With  those  who  help  the  moiling  train,  — 
Noblesse  oblige  ! 
(21) 


A  FRIEND  AT  COURT. 

A  FRIEXD  at  court  canst  thou  not  find  ? 
At  Favor's  gate  the  guard  unkind 
With  frowns  will  drive  thee  thence  unless 
Thou  comest  clothed  in  courtier's  dress, 
And  hast  thy  pass  well  countersigned. 
Try  not  that  way  with  peril  lined, 
Thy  hest  upon  another  bind  : 
How  rich  thou  art,  if  thou  possess 
A  friend  at  court ! 

Keep  to  thyself  the  quiet  mind  ; 
The  doubtful  maze  for  thee  he  '11  wind, 
And  all  with  craft  and  gentleness 
Thy  suit  on  jealous  Favor  press, 
Standing  her  high,  carved  throne  behind,  - 
A  friend  at  court. 
(22) 


FIRE-WORSHIP. 

WHERE  goest  thou,  keen  soul  of  heat, 

So  bright,  so  light,  so  fleet, 
Whose  wing  was  never  downward  hent, 

Aye  pluming  for  ascent  ? 
Where  goest  thou,  when,  breaking  loose 

From  all  mechanic  use, 
From  beacon-head  and  altar-stone 

And  hearth  of  mortal  flown, 
Thou  spreadest  through  the  air  apace, 

Dissolving  in  wide  space  ? 

Continually  the  waters  fall ; 

Springs,  torrents,  rivers,  —  all, 
Drawn  downward  to  the  gathering  deep, 

Remain  within  its  keep. 
But  thou  to  the  empyrean  sea, 

Bright  upward  stream,  dost  flee, 
Where  stars  and  sun  are  lost  to  sight, 

Drowned  in  exceeding  light. 

Continually,  in  strength  and  pride, 
The  great  ships  cut  the  tide  ; 

The  waters  fall,  and  these  descend 
Unto  their  journey's  end. 
(23) 


24  FIRE-WORSHIP. 

But  who,  upborne  on  wing  of  thine, 
Shall  reach  thy  goal  divine  ? 

Thither,  0  rapt  and  holy  Fire,  — 
Thither  bid  me  aspire, 

That,  when  my  spirit's  flame  burns  free, 
It  shall  ascend  with  thee. 


DEW  OF  PARNASSUS. 

How  shall  we  know  when  he  comes  for  whom  are  these 

garlands  of  bay  ? 
How  single  him  forth  from  the  many  that  pass  and 

repass  on  their  way  ? 

Easily  may  ye  discern  him,  and  beckon  him  forth  from 

the  throng  ; 
Ye  surely  shall  know  him  by  this,  —  he  hath  slept  on 

the  Mountain  of  Song. 

Many  are  they  that  go  thither,  many  the  guests  of  the 
day; 

Few  till  the  cool  of  the  eve,  till  the  kindling  of  Hes 
perus,  stay. 

But  he,  all  night  on  the  sward,  lay  couched  by  a  mur 
muring  spring  ; 
Sleeping  he   lay,  yet   he  heard  from   the  covert  the 

nightingale  sing,  — 

Heard  the  faint  rustle  of  leaves  astir  in  the  breath  of 

the  South, 
Felt  the  soft  lips  of  the  dryad  laid  on  his  eyelids  and 

mouth : 

3  (25) 


26  DEW   OF  PARNASSUS. 

So  slept  till  the  stars  were  all  folded  ;  till,  bright  on 

the  dim  mountain  lawn, 
The  Muses  came  singing  to  wake  him,  pouring  the 

wine  of  the  dawn  ! 

For  him  are  these  garlands  of  bay  ;  yet  show  us  more 

clearly  the  sign  : 
How  shall  we  know,  beyond  doubt,  he  hath  slept  on 

the  mountain  divine  ? 

Know  by  the  dew  on  his  raiment,  his  forehead,  and 

clustering  hair  ; 
Dew  of  the  night  on  Parnassus  he  for  a  token  shall 

wear. 

Look,  how  the  diamond  is  caught  in  the  fringe  of  the 

meadow  unshorn  ! 
Look,  how  the  rose  has  its  rubies,  the  lily  its  pearls 

from  the  morn  ! 

Such  is  the  song  of  the  poet,  —  a  blossom  bred  up  in 

the  dew ; 
Mobile  the  drop  at  its  heart,  creating  all  beauty  anew. 


THE   REPLY  OF  THE    NINETEENTH  CEN 
TURY  TO  THE  PASSIONATE  SHEPHERD. 

ACROSS  the  ages,  blithe  and  clear, 
I  hear  thy  song,  0  shepherd  dear  ! 
Thy  suit  I  hear,  and  sigh,  alas, 
That  words  so  sweet  must  vainly  pass. 
I  cannot  come  and  live  with  thee, 
Shepherd,  thy  love  I  cannot  be  : 
For  thou  art  constant,  plain,  and  true  ; 
I,  fond  of  all  that 's  strange  and  new,  — 
Exotic  gardens,  gems  of  price, 
And  trappings  rich,  and  skilled  device, 
And  speed  that  vies  with  winged  winds, 
Yet  runs  too  slow  for  vanward  minds  ! 
Soon  would  I  drain  thy  promised  joys, 
Soon  would  despise  thy  country  toys  ; 
In  each  thy  gifts  would  find  some  flaw  : 
A  posied  cap,  a  belt  of  straw, 
A  lamb's-wool  gown,  a  kirtle  fine, 
Not  long  would  please  such  heart  as  mine. 
Thy  trilling  birds  would  soon  become 
So  irksome  I  should  wish  them  dumb  ; 
And  in  the  tinkling  waterfall 
I  'd  hear  but  vexed  spirits  call, 
With  Gorgon  looks  I  'd  turn  to  rocks 
Thy  merry  fellows  and  their  flocks. 
(27) 


28        REPLY   OF   THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 

Shouldst  thou  a  bed  with  roses  strew, 

And  line  it  with  the  poppy,  too, 

Thy  tenderest  care  would  never  do,  — 

Some  hateful  thorn  would  still  prick  through  ! 

In  riddles  I  would  ever  speak, 

And  puzzle  thee  with  whim  and  freak  ; 

I  am  distrustful,  veering,  sad  ; 

With  subtle  tongue  I  'd  drive  thee  mad  : 

And  so,  for  very  love  of  thee, 

Shepherd,  thy  love  I  will  not  be  ! 


OMENS. 

As,  ere  the  storm,  a  silence  fills  the  world, 
No  blade  is  stirred,  no  banner  is  unfurled, 

In  conscious  field  or  wood  ; 

So,  all  the  morning,  hushed  and  tranced  with  fear, 
I  seemed  to  see  a  messenger  draw  near, 

Whose  errand  was  not  good. 
I  turned,  and  lo  !  within  the  open  door, 
The  one  I  deemed  beset  with  perils  sore 

Close  by  me,  smiling,  stood. 

I  know  not  why  (I  said  that  summer  night) 
The  heart  in  me  should  be  so  wondrous  light, 

So  sweet  each  moment's  breath  : 
Assurance  kind  greets  me  from  every  star  ; 
The  all-gathering  breeze,  that  hastens  from  afar,  — 

How  glad  a  thing  it  saith  ! 
That  was  the  night  my  friend  beyond  the  seas, 
Within  a  tent  beneath  the  olive  trees, 

Turned  his  blue  eyes  on  death. 
3*  (29) 


THE  WEATHER-VANE. 

A  WEATHER- VAKE  am  I, 

Close  neighbor  to  the  sky  ; 
My  gilded  shaft  I  fly 
As  any  wind  directs,  I  heed  not  where  nor  why. 

The  North  Wind  draws  his  bow, 
And  to  the  mark  I  go  ; 
The  East  Wind's  aim  I  show, 

And  pleasant  Zephyr,  and  the  South  Wind  murmuring 
low. 

So  all  goes  well  and  fair, 
Till,  in  the  lists  of  air, 
All  four  their  standards  bear : 
Four  winds  to  serve  at  once  !    I  whirl  in  wild  despair ! 

A  weather-vane  am  I 
(Close  neighbor  to  the  sky), 
That,  from  my  station  high, 
'Mong  mortal  men  full  many  a  weather-vane  descry. 


To  what  shall  I  compare 
The  veering  mind  I  bear  ? 
Yon  minion  of  the  air, 

Yon  gilded  shaft,  my  chosen  emblem  I  declare. 
(30) 


THE   WEATHER-VANE.  31 

I  turn  about,  about, 
Controlled  by  every  rout 
That  trains  with  Hope  or  Doubt ; 
Who  smiles,  I  smile  again,  or  answer  flout  with  flout. 

"Within  the  draft  I  'm  caught 
Of  all  prevailing  thought ; 
By  many  masters  taught, 
Their  varying  precepts  I  confuse  and  bring  to  naught. 

A  changeling  me  they  call : 
I  have  no  stay  in  all, 
No  shield,  no  rampart-wall ; 
I  safely  drift  about,  —  let  others  stand  or  fall ! 

I  bend,  I  do  not  break  ; 
I  light  obeisance  make 
To  scourging  storms,  that  rake 
The  harvest  from  the  field  and  shattered  forests  take. 

Since  nothing  here  I  see 
Save  mutability, 
With  it  I  will  agree  ; 
Yea,  I  on  Change's  cap  the  nodding  plume  will  be. 

Some  good  remains  behind  : 
The  clear  perceiving  mind 
In  me,  at  least,  shall  find 
An  index  true  of  all  the  tempers  of  the  wind  ! 


YOUTH  IN  AGE. 

SOUL  of  youth  shut  up  in  age, 
Like  a  wood-bird  in  a  cage, 
Or  a  stream  that 's  winter-bound, 
Flowing  on  with  prisoned  sound, 
Oft  in  olden  tales  I  've  read 
How  some  arch-enchanter  spread 
Winter  snows  on  youthful  head, 
Making  Twenty  Summers  go 
With  a  staff,  infirm  and  slow, 
Till  some  charm  or  talisman 
Could  be  found  to  break  the  ban  ! 
Such  a  captive,  if  thou  be 
Would  that  I  might  set  thee  free  : 
First,  unweave  the  silver  weft, 
That  across  thy  brow  was  left, 
Give  thee  back  the  ebon  tress, 
Shadowing  its  loveliness  : 
Then,  if  I  could  touch  thy  hand, 
Lightly,  with  restoring  wand, 
Where  's  the  lily,  bred  below, 
That  a  whiter  grace  could  show  ? 
If,  once  more,  upon  thy  cheek, 
Tidings  from  the  heart  could  speak, 
Where  's  the  rose  that  would  be  proud  ? 
And  if  I  could  chase  the  cloud 
(32) 


YOUTH  IN  AGE.  33 

That  makes  twilight  of  thine  eyes, 
Two  full,  brilliant  stars  would  rise, 
Such  as  lovers  call  their  own, 
When  the  day  has  buished  and  flown  ! 
Couldst  thou  beat  back  tided  time, 
Thou  and  I  for  joy  would  climb 
All  the  new-cleft  ways  of  life, 
Like  two  heralds  set  a  strife  : 
But  the  years  between  us  flow,  — 
As  I  enter,  thou  must  go  ; 
Yet  our  greeting-time  was  worth 
A  full  period  of  the  earth  ! 


FLOWN  BIRDS. 

COULD  we  but  know  where  henceforth  they  abide 
Whose  carols  from  our  garden  trees  have  died,  — 
We,  who  but  feel  the  season  grow  unkind, 
That  they  have  left  behind  ! 

Here  are  their  nests,  their  falling,  wind-racked  nests, 
Despised  homes,  whose  builders  now  are  guests 
In  some  bright,  alien  land  we  never  saw, 
Some  clime  that  breathes  no  flaw. 

They  in  their  flight  wake  the  light  sleeper,  Spring ; 
In  frostless  groves  they  stir  their  wings  and  sing  ; 
Green  boughs  and  waving  meadows  green  are  theirs, 
To  haunt  in  happy  pairs. 

Who  marks  their  Sittings  amid  glossy  leaves  ? 
Who  bids  them  welcome  under  friendly  eaves  ? 
What  names,  in  mellow  tongues  to  us  unknown, 
Do  they  henceforward  own  ? 

We  have  no  prescience,  no  remembrance  they ; 
Let  be.     Grief  crosses  not  their  blessed  way. 
Be  glad  they  know  not  of  our  waning  year, 
And  storms  that  gather  here. 
(34) 


ST.   CECJLTA. 

GOD  gave  this  mastery  to  my  mind,  — 

The  soul  of  music  to  unbind 

From  every  wandering  wave  and  wind, 

Green  sod  and  tree. 
In  earth  and  air,  in  rocks,  in  fire, 
I  read  mute  measures  of  desire  ; 
On  organ  reeds  or  flashing  lyre, 

I  set  them  free. 

A  lute  unto  my  voice  He  gave ; 
And  when  the  cloudy  censers  wave, 
And  fragrant  twilight  fills  the  nave, 

Who  worships  then, 

With  heart  sublimed,  —  it  seems  to  him 
He  hears  the  breathless  cherubim, 
Far  up  in  pictured  transept  dim, 

Join  praise  with  men  ! 

Some  say  that  I  a  spirit  am ; 

That  where  I  pass  the  air  grows  calm 

And  soother  than  a  chanted  psalm 

At  vesper  chime  ; 
And  that  my  eyes  are  full  of  rest, 
As  are  the  eyes  of  all  the  Blest, 
When  first  on  hands,  and  brow,  and  breast, 

Floats  Heaven's  soft  clime. 
(35) 


36  8T.    CECILIA. 

And  this  may  be  :  I  cannot  tell 
If  yet  upon  the  earth  I  dwell, 
Or  softly,  without  death  or  knell. 

Have  passed  from  earth. 
The  light  that  shines  before  my  way 
Shines  ever  as  the  orient  day ; 
My  heart  is  fuller  than  the  May 

Of  songs  and  mirth. 

Sometimes,  on  dead  midwinter  night, 
When  gardens  lie  in  folded  white, 
And  giddy  stars  slide  out  of  sight, 

Past  cliffs  of  ice, — 
Lo  !  suddenly  an  angel  stands 
With  fair  red  roses  in  his  hands, 
Dew-wet,  and  plucked  in  morning  lands 

Of  Paradise  ! 


LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

"  THOU  to  life,  and  I  to  death, 

God  alone  knows  which  is  best :  " 
Wisdom  of  the  ages  saith. 

In  the  dusking  of  the  west 
Lifts  a  curling  censer-cloud, 
As  to  say  that  now  are  bowed, 
Unto  toneless  vesper  chimes, 
Spirits  folded  from  all  times  ; 

But  we  do  not  know. 

Thou  to  waken,  every  morn, 

To  the  voices  round  the  eaves  ; 
To  the  hum  of  growing  corn, 

And  the  lisp  of  tender  leaves  ! 
Thou  shalt  bring  me  lilies  white 
(Such  as  I  may  wear  to-night !), 
And  shalt  bid  them  bloom  for  me, 
In  the  place  of  cypress-tree  ; 

But  I  shall  not  know. 

I  to  lie  within  the  land, 

While  it  laughs  with  sun  and  rain, 
While  the  summer's  flame  is  fanned, 

And  the  woods  are  like  a  fane, 

4  (37) 


38  LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

Full  of  holy,  mystic  stirs, 
Where  the  birds  are  choristers  ; 
I  to  shut  my  eyes  so  fast 
That  no  light  can  glimmer  past ! 

Nay  !  but  dost  thou  know  ? 

Since  the  world  was  fashioned  thus, 

Sown  with  life  that  flowers  in  death, 
None  that  pass  return  to  us, 

When  they  lose  the  air's  sweet  breath. 
We  may  dream  they  throng  the  wind, 
That  our  eyes  alone  are  blind  ; 
Say  they  live  again  on  earth, 
Presences  that  guard  the  hearth  ; 
But  we  do  not  know. 

Thou  to  life,  and  I  to  death  ; 

Thou  to  bide,  and  I  to  run, 
Like  a  ray  that  hasteneth, 

On  the  hill-tops,  when  the  sun 
Through  the  evening-gate  has  gone. 
Every  sunset 's  faced  with  dawn 
To  the  men  that  dwell  far  west : 
Dusk  or  daybreak,  —  God  knows  best ; 
But  we  do  not  know. 


INAUGURAL. 

MARCH   4,  1881. 

0  DAY  !  what  triumph  and  what  song 

To  thee  belong  ? 
What  voice  along  the  sentient  wire, 

Like  a  wild-running  fire, 
Bears  the  all-hail  and  heartening  of  the  land 

To  him  who  takes  the  new  command  ? 

O  Day  !  fruition  of  the  people's  choice  ! 

Who  is  this  chosen  by  the  people's  voice  ? 
What  charter  can  he  show, 
By  which  all  men  may  know 
His  hands  are  high  and  just, 
His  counsels  worthy  trust  ? 

Ye  people  !  one  of  you,  the  best  of  you, 
Uniting  all,  stands  up  within  your  view  ; 

Whate'er  in  you  reside 

Of  spirit  staunch  and  tried, 

Of  faith  resolved  and  sure, 

Of  patience  to  endure, 

Of  truth,  not  merchandized, 

Of  honor,  higher  prized 

Than  fame's  or  fortune's  count, 

Of  valor  to  surmount 
(39) 


40  INAUGURAL. 

The  hedge  of  circumstance  ; 

To  stay,  or  to  advance  ; 
To  stand  forth  sole  in  unexampled  act, 
And  still  to  keep  the  private  life  intact ; 

To  meet  the  country's  call  ; 

To  give  the  life  for  life  of  all,  — 
Whatever  names  you  wise  and  strong  and  great 
Among  the  nations  held  in  honored  state, 

He  whom  to-day  ye  celebrate 

(A  king  of  men  ye  celebrate) ,  — 
He  all  includes,  he  tills  the  estimate  ! 

Now,  whosoe'er  ye  be, 

Hailed  freedmen,  or  born  free, 

Whoe'er  ye  be  that  toil 

In  labor's  complex  coil, 

By  dint  of  hand,  or  brain, 

Ye,  too,  are  sovereign  ! 

He  being  one  of  you, 
He  nothing  does  that  is  not  done  of  you. 

Close  by  your  ruler  stand, 

Oh,  all  ye  rulers  of  the  land  ! 

Is,  then,  dominion  sweet  ? 

Self-mastery  first  is  meet : 
He  bears  himself  above  the  rest  of  us, 
Alone  because  he  strove  and  conquered  thus. 

O  Day  !  such  triumph  and  such  song 

To  thee  belong ; 
Such  voice  along  the  sentient  wire, 

Like  a  wild-running  fire, 
Bears  the  all-hail  and  heartening  of  the  land 

To  him  who  takes  the  new  command. 


CUTHBERT. 

OF  old,  from  storied  Lammermoor,  the  youthful  Cuth- 

bert  went 
Through  all  the  Lowlands,  far  and  wide,  on  blessed 

mission  sent. 

An  angel's  face,  a  peasant  frame,  stout-hearted,  strong 
of  limb  ; 

The  people  hear  their  native  tongue  in  every  sweet- 
voiced  hymn. 

They  come  from  rugged  toil  afield,  they  drop  their 
shuttles  rude, 

To  serve  the  guest ;  he  serves  their  hearts  with  heav 
enly  drink  and  food. 

Or  mounted  now,  or  now  afoot,  with  pilgrim  staff  in 
hand, 

There  is  no  wild  he  hath  not  traced,  in  all  Northum 
berland  : 

At  morn,  with  shepherds  on  the  hills,  his  matin  anthem 

rings ; 

He  hastens  on,  and  in  the  vale  his  even-song  he  sings  ; 
4*  (41) 


42  CUTE  BERT. 

Or,   seaward,  on   some    sylvan    stream   he   holds   his 

course  aright, 
And  many  a  shore-built  hamlet  greets,  a  messenger  of 

light ! 

Winter  and  night  upon  the  sea,  high  waves  and  winds 

at  strife, 
The   snow-cloud  lowering  thick  and  fast  on  the  icy 

coast  of  Fife  ! 

What  hoat  is  this  that  scarce  can  live,  among  the  bil- 

lows  tossed  ? 
What  crew  is  this,  whose  hearts  must  fail,  fear-bound, 

and  numb  with  frost  ? 

True  Cuthbert  dares  to  be  where'er  God's  signal  goes 

before : 
As  safe  to  him  the  rocking  sea  as  is  the  stable  shore. 

"  No  way  remains  !  "  his  comrades  cry.     "  Oh,  whither 

shall  we  go  ? 
The  storm  forbids  us  on  the  sea,  and  on  the  shore  the 

snow ! " 

Above  the  surge  rose  Cuthbert's  voice,  bright  glanced 

his  fearless  eye : 
"  One  way  remains  :  the  way  of  heaven  doth  always 

open  lie." 

Doth  open  lie  ?    Oh,  pilot  word !    Let  me  remember  aye, 
Though  shore  and  sea  afford  no  pass,  there  's  yet  a 
starward  way ! 


THE  FIRESIDE  IN  THE   SNOW. 

I,  LOOKING  through  the  pane  to-night, 
Beheld  my  fireside's  steady  glow, 

A  blooming  plot  of  warmth  and  light, 
Amid  a  waste  of  snow. 

Beneath  the  sighing  winter  boughs, 
Still-imaged  in  the  stormy  flaw, 

The  lamplight  on  their  open  brows, 
My  dearest-loved  I  saw  : 

The  child  above  his  fairy-book, 
His  mother  at  her  evening  work  , 

While  all  about  the  ingle-nook 
The  hungry  shadows  lurk. 

There  is  no  stir,  no  uttered  word, 
To  chase  the  visionary  scene  ; 

Only  the  whistling  wind  is  heard, 
The  snow-flakes  drift  between. 

Beat,  storm,  against  the  magic  pale  ! 

Inviolate  they  sit  within, 
In  light  and  peace  that  cannot  fail, 

To  dreams  of  heaven  akin. 

(43) 


44  THE  FIRESIDE  IN  TEE  SNOW. 

I  turn  me  from  the  window-pane. 

What  if  the  years  were  strangely  fled, 
And  this  were  painting  of  the  brain, 

Hearth,  lamp,  and  housemates  sped  ? 

I  only  left,  and  sadly  joyed 
To  trace,  by  reminiscent  light, 

These  lovely  forms  against  the  void 
Of  the  white  winter's  night  ? 

The  mother  at  her  evening  task, 
The  child  above  his  fairy-tale, 

Still,  by  a  charmed  hearth  would  bask, 
And  beckon  through  the  gale  ! 


THE   CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

A    CHRISTMAS   LEGEND. 

OH,  sleep,  my  children,  sleep  ! 
Lie  close  together  on  your  cold,  hard  bed. 
What  have  ye  now  but  sleep  ?     The  fire  is  dead, 
And  there  remains  but  one  poor  crust  of  bread, 

That  I  against  your  hungry  waking  keep. 

Oh,  sleep,  my  children,  sleep  ! 

The  timbers  groan  with  frost,  and  creaks  the  floor  ; 
The  moonlight  glances  on  the  panes  all  hoar  ; 
The  wind  heaps  up  the  snow  against  the  door. 

A  voice  I  hear  ;  outside,  some  child  doth  weep. 

My  children  are  asleep ; 

But  thou,  young  lamb,  wide  straying  from  the  fold, 
I  pity  thee,  feet  bleeding,  numb  with  cold. 
Eat  thou  their  bread,  —  a  morsel  dry  and  old  ; 

To  warm  thyself,  beneath  their  cover  creep. 

Sleep  well,  my  children,  sleep  ! 
And  thou,  too,  sleep,  poor  wanderer,  till  the  day. 
What  vexeth  thee  ?     Wilt  thou  no  longer  stay  ? 
How  strangely  gone  !     No  footprint  marks  the  way, 
But  flowers  start  through  the  drift  so  smooth  and 
deep  ! 

(45) 


46  THE   CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

O  children,  leave  your  sleep  ! 

Come  hither,  come,  and  see  this  wondrous  thing,  — 
Rough  Winter  to  his  bosom  folds  the  Spring  ! 
A  holy  guest  to  us  the  night  did  bring  ; 

These  flowers  he  left ;  himself  we  could  not  keep. 

My  children,  leave  your  sleep,  — 
Leave  empty  dreaming  on  your  cold,  hard  bed  ! 
For  now  the  house  is  light,  the  hearth  blooms  red  ; 
Be  hungry  now  no  more  ;  with  meat  and  bread 

Do  heavenly  hands  unseen  the  table  heap. 


THEANO. 

"  THE  sacred  rites  of   Eleusis,   Demeter's  mysteries 

old, 
Hath  Alcibiades  mocked,  profaning  with   mimicry 

bold; 
Wherefore,  ye  priests  and  priestesses,  hear  what  the 

city  commands  : 
Spare  not,  but  curse,  Alcibiades,  lifting  your  reverend 

hands." 

Not  loath  were  they  of  the  temples  to  hear  and  obey 

the  decree,  — 
Not  loath  were  they  all  save  one ;  fair  daughter  of 

Menon  was  she. 
"  Obey,  if  ye  will,  man's  word.     By  me  shall  the  gods 

be  obeyed. 
Lo !  I  am   here,  not  for  cursing ;    a  priestess  for 

prayer  was  I  made  !  " 

Praise  to  thee,  daughter  of  Menon,  star  of  Agrau- 
los's  fane  ! 

Praise  to  thee,  steadfast  Theano  !     Thy  words  bright- 
blazoned  remain  ; 

Forgotten  are  theirs,  who  from  altars  of  wrath  their 
malisons  hurled. 

So  ever  :  the  curse  falls  void,  the  prayer  wins  the 
heart  of  the  world. 
(47) 


A  SONG  OF  REST. 

SPEED  on,  0  Time,  with  winning  feet ! 
Chime  silver  victory,  clear  and  sweet ! 
I  shall  not  overtake  thee  soon. 
Like  some  faint  reaper  under  noon 
Caught  softly  to  the  earth's  warm  breast, 
So  here  I  rest. 

0  Earth,  I  have  not  wandered  far  ; 

1  never  saw  the  nearest  star 

That  shines  beneath  our  nightly  verge ; 
I  never  rode  the  eastern  surge, 
Nor  climbed  the  summits  in  the  west ; 
But  here  I  rest. 

0  Song,  Love,  Life,  farewell  to  you  ! 

1  swayed  among  you  like  the  dew 
Shared  between  morning  sun  and  wind  : 
Ye  still  are  fair  and  free  and  kind, 
Yet  grieve  I  not,  though  dispossessed  ; 

For  here  I  rest. 

I  said  to  Song  :  Farewell  a  day, 

Till  there  be  taught  me  some  fresh  lay 

(48) 


A  SONG   OF  REST.  49 

By  sleep  and  dreaming,  yet  unsung  .  .  . 
They  teach  divine  things  in  a  tongue 
The  perfect  silence  suiteth  best ; 
So  here  I  rest. 

I  said  to  Love :  Thy  lips  and  eyes 
Take  hence,  be  gathered  to  the  skies, 
And  keep  no  more  thy  troth  with  me. 
My  heart  no  longer  beats  in  thee, 
And  thine  no  longer  in  my  breast ; 
For  here  I  rest. 

Is  't  thou,  0  Sleep,  that  pourest  balm, 
With  faint  rose  lips  and  eyes  of  calm, 
Or  thou  that  strewest  asphodel  ? 
Or  Sleep,  or  Death,  —  I  cannot  tell : 
But  thou  art  come  a  welcome  guest ; 

And  here  I  rest. 
5 


FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM. 

I  'VE  sailed  the  sea  these  many  years, 
Yet  stout  my  heart,  undimmed  my  eye  ; 

Whene'er  I  meet  my  sailing  peers, 
"  All 's  well ! "  I  to  their  shout  reply. 

These  many  years  I  've  sailed  the  sea, 
Been  tossed  by  tempest,  bound  by  calm  ; 

My  freight  was  orient  spicery, 
And  fruitage  of  the  Indian  palm. 

Far  lighter  is  my  laden  bark 

Than  when  it  left  the  Morning  Shore  : 
To  'scape  the  waters,  hoarse  and  dark, 

I  freely  cast  abroad  my  store. 

Of  this,  some  part,  in  secret  caves, 

Lies  mixed  with  dim,  unfooted  sands  ; 

Some  part  is  borne  upon  the  waves 
To  richly  portion  barren  strands. 

I  would  some  wrecker  there  might  be 
Where'er  my  noble  freightage  drifts, 

To  whom  the  undiscerning  sea 

Might  bring  these  stolen  things  as  gifts  : 
50) 


FLOTSAM  AND  JETSAM.  51 

Thou  shivering  dweller  by  the  sands, 
Look  what  to  thee  a  bankrupt  sends  ! 

What  falls  to  thine  unweeting  hands 

Shall  house  thee,  feed  thee,  make  thee  friends. 

I  've  sailed  the  sea  these  many  years, 
Yet  stout  my  heart,  undimmed  my  eye  ; 

Whene'er  I  meet  my  sailing  peers, 
"  All 's  well !  "  I  to  their  shout  reply. 

Now  close  at  hand  the  roadstead  lies, 

Nor  shall  I  shame  to  enter  there, 
Though  my  good  ship  hath  lost  her  prize,  — 

Keel  split;  and  masts  beyond  repair ! 


MENDING  THE  ROSE. 

MY  little  friend,  who  not  till  now 
Has  seen  the  June  and  roses, 

Receives  my  gift  with  wondering  brow, 
His  soft  hand  round  it  closes. 

What,  canker  at  the  rose's  core  ! 

The  rose's  fate  is  calling  ; 
A  single  leaf,  then  two,  then  more, 

Like  early  snowflakes  falling. 

My  little  friend,  not  ev'n  for  you 
Time's  beckoned  creatures  linger. 

But  you  've  a  plan  :  show  what  you  'd  do, 
With  leaf  'twixt  thumb  and  finger. 

You  'd  set  it  on  the  stem  again, 
And  make  the  rose  bloom  newly  ; 

You  'd  keep  the  wizard's  promise  vain,  — 
Ah,  could  you  keep  it  truly ! 
(52) 


THE  NIGHT-WIND. 

ONCE,  when  the  night-wind  clapped  its  wings, 
And  shook  the  window-bars  and  roof, 
I  heard  the  souls  of  battle-kings 

Drive  by  in  clashing  proof  ! 

Sometimes,  a  runic  strife  it  kept, 
Of  winter  nights,  in  sleeted  trees  ; 
Or  underneath  the  eaves  it  crept,  — 

A  swarm  of  murmuring  bees. 

Or,  now,  wild  huntsmen  of  the  air 
In  hollow  chase  their  bugles  blew, 
While  swift  o'er  wood  and  hill-top  bare 
The  shrill-voiced  quarry  flew. 

Sometimes  I  heard  of  lovers  flown, 
Safe,  under  ward  of  storm  and  night, 
To  where,  in  sylvan  lodge,  there  shone 
A  taper  kind  and  bright. 

These  things  the  night-wind  used  to  tell, 
And  still  would  tell,  if  I  might  hear ; 
But  sorrow  sleeps  too  sound  and  well 
To  lend  a  dreamful  ear. 

5*  (53) 


POPPIES  IN  OUR  WHEAT. 

LET  no  blame  upon  us  fall, 
Thrifty  ones  of  cot  and  hall, 
That,  while  ye  take  care  to  hoard 
Corn  and  wine  for  winter's  board, 
We  beside  the  hedgerow  lie, 
Heedless  how  bright  hours  go  by. 
Wonder  not  we  dread  no  want, 
When  the  year  is  bare  and  gaunt : 
Idle  bread  we  have  to  eat,  — 
Poppies  grew  amidst  our  wheat. 

Blame  not  us,  ye  revelers  blithe, 
Who  have  lodged  the  rake  and  scythe, 
And  with  fan  and  flail  no  more 
Tread  the  granary's  breezy  floor  : 
Though,  with  humming  wire  and  flute, 
The  boon  Season  well  ye  suit, 
Call  us  not  by  word  or  glance  ; 
We  will  neither  feast  nor  dance. 
Blame  not  us  that  sleep  is  sweet,  — 
Poppies  grew  amidst  our  wheat. 
(54) 


APRIL  CAPRICES. 

So  fresli  and  fair  the  morning  was,  — 

All  in  the  early  spring, 
Love  pitched  his  tent  upon  the  grass, 

A  silken  thing. 

There  came  a  hlack  cloud  up  the  sky, 

The  thunder  heat  tattoo  ; 
The  rain  came  down,  with  gusty  sigh, 

And  drenched  Love  through. 

He  clapped  his  snowy,  dove-like  fans, 

And  shook  his  curls  out  dry : 
"  You,  April,  think  to  spoil  my  plans  ; 
Too  wise  am  I !  " 

Then  Love  went  muffled  to  the  throat 

In  a  rich  purple  cloak  ; 
He  set  adrift  his  winged  hoat, 

With  airy  stroke. 

The  clouds  rolled  hack,  the  soft  sky  laughed, 
The  sun  shone  warm  and  bright ; 

Straight  through  a  rainhow  shot  Love's  craft, 
In  various  light. 

(55) 


56  APRIL   CAPRICES. 

His  purple  cloak  he  casts  away, 

And  calls  a  zephyr-breeze  : 
"  You,  April,  are  my  own  sweet  fay, 
Do  what  you  please !  " 


A  RAINBOW. 

LARGE  glistening  drops  stood  in  her  eyes, 

But  yet  could  win  no  leave  to  flow  ; 
And  I,  not  willing  to  surprise 

The  tears  she  would  not  show, — 

I  looked  another  way. 
Some  smiling  words,  at  last,  she  spake  ; 

Then  down  the  tears  dropped  unconfined. 
This  sun  and  shower  conspired  to  make 
A  rainbow  in  my  mind, 

That  lingers  to  this  day. 
(57) 


A  BEE  IN  MY  BONNET. 

HUSH,  hush  !  there  's  a  bee  in  my  bonnet ! 
I  know  by  the  humming  I  hear  ; 
Have  a  care  not  to  venture  too  near  ! 
No  bustle,  no  beating  alarms, 
As  when  you  hive  fugitive  swarms  ; 
But  here  let  me  sit  a  half  hour 
'Mong  flowers,  as  still  as  a  flower  ; 
And  this  mischief  that  tickles  my  brain 
Perhaps  will  be  tempted  to  drain 
Some  of  the  sweets  that  abound 
In  this  plot  of  blossoming  ground. 
But  softly,  already  we  Ve  won  it ! 

Aha  !  this  bee  in  my  bonnet 
Makes  honey  the  whole  country  over,  — 
From  daisy  and  kingcup  and  clover, 
Cornflower  and  thistle  and  rue, 
And  sips  up  the  eglantine  dew  ; 
Then  dives  into  sorcerers'  bowers, 
To  taste  of  their  opiate  flowers  ; 
Sleeps  with  the  poppy  and  lote 
And  Ganges'  gold  lily  afloat ; 
Or,  lit  on  the  candied  edge 
Of  Ganymede's  cup,  steals  a  pledge,  — 
Though  his  eyes  are  fastened  upon  it ! 
(58) 


DIABLERIE. 

'T  is  a  night  of  the  witches, 
Of  goblins  and  witches  ! 
See  how  they  hover, 
Starting  out  of  their  niches 
Among  the  black  trees  ! 
The  Moon 's  ill  at  ease, 
Lest  the  mob  should  have  spied  her, 
And  hastens  to  cover 
Her  face  in  a  cloud, 
Or  diaphanous  shroud, 
Too  sleazy  to  hide  her ! 
And  not  only  witches, 
(Grewsome  with  beards) 
Goblins  and  witches, 
In  all  keys  and  pitches 
Chanting  their  weirds ; 
Not  only  ghosts,  jostling, 
In  yonder  dim  alley, 
Where  ghosts  wont  to  rally, 
But  I  hear  a  low  rustling 
And  whistling  behind  me,  — 
Footsteps  behind  me 
On  the  hard  frozen  ground  ! 
I  dare  not  look  round, 
(59) 


60  DIABLERIE. 

Lest  Terror  should  blind  me, 
Should  chill  me,  and  bind  me, 
And  I,  next  morning,  in  marble  be  found  ! 

On  it  comes  lightly, 
Over  stones  skipping, 
On  the  turf  tripping  ; 
Something  more  sprightly 
Than  witches,  I  fancy, 
Worse  necromancy ! 
But  face  about, 
Charge  on  the  rout, 
Whatever  betide  me  ! 
Ah,  now  I  see  clearly,  — 
'T  is  a  dead  leaf  merely  ; 
A  dead  leaf  !  no  wonder 
The  Moon,  peering  under 
That  skurrying  cloud,  looks  out  to  deride  me 


SING-IN-THE-WINTER. 

ONCE  before  Winter  had  gathered  his  forces, 
And  driven  the  rivers  back  on  their  courses, 
Roaming  the  uplands,  I  found  in  the  heather 
Waif  of  the  summer,  bird  of  strange  feather  ; 

And  I  caught  it, 

And  brought  it 

In  from  the  weather. 

In  from  the  weather,  from  wanton  molesting, 
Found  it  a  shelter,  a  place  for  its  nesting, 
High  in  the  sunny  south-side  of  my  aerie  ; 
It  fluted  wild  airs  from  the  Land  of  the  Faery  ; 

And  I  tamed  it, 

And  named  it 

Sing-in-the- Winter. 

The  neighbors  flocked  in  with  complaints  at  the  sea 
son,  — 

"  Rhymes  keep  a  poet,  but  we  must  have  reason,"  — 
Scoffed  at  my  comfort  and  scowled  at  the  season  ; 
But  high  in  the  rafter  was  chanted  sweet  treason : 
Did  they  hear  it, 
Sweet  spirit, 

Sing-in-the-Winter  ? 
6  (61) 


62  SING-IN-  THE-  WINTER. 

Off  from  the  highway  came  curious  townsmen, 
Tradesmen    and    craftsmen,    and    schoolmen    and 

gownsmen ; 

Merry  or  wise  only  tarried  a  minute  :  — 
"  A  ground-bird,  —  a  swallow,  —  at  best,  but  a  lin 
net  !  " 

Did  they  hear  it, 
Sweet  spirit, 

Sing-in-the- Winter  ? 

Late  on  an  evening,  a  starry-eyed  stranger 
Sat  by  my  fire  :  "  Friend,  you  know  not  your  dan 
ger ; 

You  've  caught  the  Arabian  bird,  the  wing'd  rapture, 
That,  long  ago  lost,  there  was  none  could  recapture : 
If  you  prize  it, 
Disguise  it,  — 

Sing-in-the-Winter !  " 


GAFFER  TIME. 

"  OH,  where  are  you  going,  old  Gaffer  Time, 

This  morning  in  May, 

The  sweet  o'  the  day  ?  " 
"  Wherever  you  will,  pretty  boy  and  girl,  — 

Wherever  you  say  ! " 

"  Then,  go  we  no  further,  but  sit  down  here, 
At  the  head  of  the  lane, 
While  you  sing  us  again 
The  songs  of  your  youth,  and  my  love  and  I 
Knit  a  daisy  chain. 

"  Sit  we  down  here  in  the  pleasant  grass  ; 
And  that  we  may  be 
Better  friends  —  all  three  — 
Give  to  my  love  your  glass  to  hold, 
And  your  scythe  to  me." 

Old  Gaffer  Time,  he  laughed  full  loud,  — 
Full  loud  and  blithe, 
(Snatching  his  tithe)  : 

"  Ho  !  you  would  have  broken  the  glass,  and  you 
Would  have  blunted  the  scythe  !  " 
(63) 


A  LIGHT  ROUND. 

UNDER  the  oak,  and  under  the  birk, 

Dance  a  light  round  ; 
Under  the  May  moon,  treading  a  cirque 

On  the  mossy  ground  ! 

Soft  hand  to  hand,  and  oft  lip  to  lip, 

Dance  a  light  round  ; 
Thus  it  is  that  we  fairies  trip 

O'er  enchanted  ground. 

Now,  where  shall  we  find  a  mortal  fair, 

Fit  to  be  crowned  ? 
And  where  shall  we  find  a  minstrel  rare, 

To  lead  our  light  round  ? 

A  lady  I  know,  both  fair  and  good, 

Fit  to  be  crowned  ; 
And  a  minstrel  I  know,  in  the  heart  of  the  wood, 

Will  lead  your  light  round. 

Bring  her  to  us,  the  fair  and  the  good,  — 

She  shall  be  crowned  ; 
Bring  us  the  minstrel  out  of  the  wood, 

To  lead  our  light  round. 
(64) 


A  LIGHT  HOUND.  65 

Oh,  the  lady  lies  in  her  bower  asleep, 

With  a  strange  wound  ; 
And  the  minstrel  is  gone  through  the  forest  deep,  — 

He  leads  a  light  round  ! 

Under  the  oak,  and  under  the  birk, 

Break  off  our  light  round  ; 
Fade  all  away  in  the  morning  mirk, 

Fade  underground ! 

6* 


SPEEDWELL. 

FARE  thee  well,  thou  too  light-hearted ! 
The  tear  to  thine  eye  hath  not  started ; 
Grieves  thee  not  we  must  be  parted  ? 
Framed  with  the  morning  I  see  thee  ; 
I  go,  and  leave  the  morn  with  thee  ; 
Shall  I  have  no  token,  I  prithee  ? 
Heed  well ! 

Faintly  she  smiles  ;  hending  slowly, 
Gathers  a  flower  growing  lowly,  — 
A  flower  with  a  legend  holy : 
Her  hreath  through  the  blossom  sighing 
Sets  its  light  petals  flying  ; 
Sweet  is  love's  mute  replying,  — 
Speedwell ! 
(66) 


LAUREL. 

WHAT  's  this  hue  and  cry  of  "  laurel," 
Muses'  suitors  in  a  quarrel,  — 

Food  for  wise  men's  mirth  ! 
What 's  in  laurel  ?  What  is  laurel 
More  than  yarrow,  brake,  or  sorrel, 

Common  tribes  o'  the  earth  ! 

Any  other  plant 's  as  holy, 
Arbute,  caprifole,  or  moly, 

Ivy  in  the  mesh  ; 

Heart's-ease,  good  for  melancholy  ; 
Jessamine,  for  pleasure  solely  ; 

Hawthorn,  gay  and  fresh. 

Can  it  be  that  Daphne,  hidden, 
Smiles  among  the  leaves  unchidden  — 

(Faithless  runaway !) 
Oh,  I  think  't  is  Daphne,  hidden, 
Gives  the  bush  its  charm  forbidden,  — 

Daphne,  in  the  bay  ! 
(67) 


MUSAGETES. 

I  ONCE  did  dream  Apollo  bright 
Was  leader  of  the  Muses  nine, 

Who  followed  him  from  pure  delight, 
The  while  he  touched  his  lyre  divine. 

But  now,  alas  !  how  changed  the  plan  ! 

The  Muses  I  indeed  behold  ; 
But  Mercury  marches  in  their  van, 

His  lyre  a  purse  of  jingling  gold. 
(68) 


SYRINX. 

COME  forth,  too  timid  spirit  of  the  reed  ! 

Leave  thy  plashed  coverts  and  elusions  shy, 
And  find  delight  at  large  in  grove  and  mead. 

No  ambushed  harm,  no  wanton  peering  eye  ; 
The  shepherd's  uncouth  god  thou  need'st  not  fear,  — 
Pan  has  not  passed  this  way  for  many  a  year. 

'T  is  but  the  vagrant  wind  that  makes  thee  start,  — 
The  pleasure-loving  south,  the  freshening  west ; 

The  willow's  woven  veil  they  softly  part, 

To  fan  the  lily  on  the  stream's  warm  breast : 

No  ruder  stir,  no  footstep  pressing  near,  — 

Pan  has  not  passed  this  way  for  many  a  year. 

Whether  he  lies  in  some  mossed  wood,  asleep, 
And  heeds  not  how  the  acorns  drop  around, 

Or  in  some  shelly  cavern  near  the  deep, 
Lulled  by  its  pulses  of  eternal  sound, 

He  wakes  not,  answers  not  our  sylvan  cheer,  — 

Pan  has  been  gone  this  many  a  silent  year. 

Else  we  had  seen  him,  through  the  mists  of  morn, 
To  upland  pasture  lead  his  bleating  charge  : 
(69) 


70  SYRJNX. 

There  sling  upon  the  stunted  thorn, 

No  hoof-print  on  the  river's  silver  marge  ; 
Nor  broken  branch  of  pine,  nor  ivied  spear,  — 
Pan  has  not  passed  that  way  for  many  a  year. 

0  tremulous  elf,  reach  me  a  hollow  pipe, 

The  besl  and  smoothest  of  thy  mellow  store  ! 
Now  I  mnj  blow  till  Time  be  hoary  ripe, 

And  listening  streams  forsake  the  paths  they  wore 
Pan  loved  the  sound,  but  now  will  never  bear,  — 
Pan  has  not  trimmed  a  reed  this  many  a  year  ! 

And  so,  come  freely  forth,  and  through  the  sedge 
Lift  up  a  dimpled,  warm,  Arcadian  face, 

As  on  that  day  when  fear  thy  feet  did  fledge, 

And  thou  didst  safely  win  the  breathless  race.  .  .  . 

1  am  deceived  :  nor  Pan  nor  thou  art  here,  — 
Pan  has  been  gone  this  many  a  silent  year  ! 


SOUTH  AND  WEST. 

HERE  in  the  depth  of  the  land,  where  the  hills  are  a 

shade  and  a  silence, 
Listening,  I  hear  the  myriad,  mounting  feet  of  the 

tides, 
As  they  follow  the  moon,  their  white  priestess,  to  kneel 

by  the  tropical  islands, 

Fair  in  the  South  and  the  West,  where  thy  ship  at 
anchorage  rides. 

Clear  are  the  silver  skies,  when  the  planets  of  autumn 

are  shining,  — 
Clear  in  the  South  and  the  West,  with    ght  on  the 

ways  of  the  waves  : 

Every  star  is  a  pilot  to  thee ;  each  planet,  declining, 
Shines  full  on  thy  haven,  and  sinks  with  its  lamp  to 
Hesperean  caves. 

Sweet  in  the  South  and  the  West  is  the  parley  of  winds 

with  the  ocean ; 
The  shells  on  the  strand  are  the  cloisters  of  spirits 

that  whisper  and  sing. 
Oh,  sweet  in  the  South  and  the  West  is  the  music  of 

forests  in  motion, 

Happy  the  valley  a  river  all  golden  weds  with  his 
ring  ! 

(71) 


72  SOUTH  AND    WEST. 

Rich  in  the  South  and  the  West  are  the  houses  of  treas 
ure  unquarried, 

Builded  of  old  without  entrance  and  guarded  by  in 
dwelling  fire ; 

Many  a  presence  in  purple,  many  a  kingly  cold  fore 
head, 

Crowned  with  high  winter,  looks  down  on  a  land  of 
delight  and  desire. 

Far  in  the  South   and    the  "West  —  oh,  farther  than 

flight  of  the  swallow  — 

Hast  climbed  the  last  wave  where  sun  and  stars  de 
scend  to  their  bath  ! 
I  would  fit  me  a  sail,  and  follow  thy  traces  as  Summer 

follows, 

Winged  with  adventurous  winds  that  murmur  glad 
things  in  thy  path  ! 


A  PARALLEL. 

A  GRAPE-SEED,  in  the  new  red  wine  afloat, 
Put  endless  pause  to  blithe  Anacreon's  note  ; 
Thus  antic  Death,  with  light  and  sportive  hand, 
The  pampered  life  from  out  its  flower-nook  fanned. 
But  tragic  Otway,  stung  by  hunger's  thrust, 
In  breaking  fast  was  choked  upon  a  crust. 
Still  antic  Death  !  —  to  make  the  prop  of  life 
Serve  the  same  end  as  fatal  cord  or  knife  ! 
7  (73) 


SUB  ROSA. 

Is  there  any  one  now  that  knows 
What  a  world  of  mystery  lies  deep  down  in  the  heart 

of  a  rose, 
Shaded  by  curtains  of  damask  or  cloistered  in  summer 

snows  ? 

Does  any  one  now  understand 

That  roses  are  first  in  favor  with  her  who  is  queen  in 
Love's  Land,  — 

Fair  maidens,  who  come  and  go  at  the  beck  of  her  sov 
ereign  hand  ? 

While  Adonis  sleeps  on,  a  half  year, 
In  her  magical  midwinter  garden,  vacant  of  hope  as  of 

fear, 
She  calls  her  attendants,  the  red  and  white  roses,  and 

bids  them  be  near, 

To  winnow  the  air,  gently  swaying, 
And  whisper,  bent  low  by  his  pillow,  many  a  tremulous 

saying 

From  the  missal  of  Sorrow  and  Love,  to  chide  his 
drowsy  delaying. 

(74) 


SUB  EOS  A.  75 

In  that  garden  the  frost  never  nips, 
But  tears  of  the  constant  white  roses  fall,  melting  his 

vision's  eclipse, 
And   red   roses'    kisses,    repeated,  bloom   red  on  his 

cheeks  and  his  lips  ! 


What  word  from  Love's  Country,  this  morn, 
What  tidings,  0  Rose,  have  you  brought  ?     Is  it  time 

of  the  flower  or  the  thorn  ? 
What  mood  sways  its  whimsical  people,  —  consenting, 

or  doubting,  or  scorn  ? 

Is  the  air  still  laden  with  sighs, 

As  I  knew  it  of  old  ?  Do  they  speak  the  same  lan 
guage  of  candor  and  lies, 

Leaving  a  part  to  shy  silence,  the  rest  to  the  lips  and 
the  eyes  ? 


AT  THE   SPRING. 


WHAT  dost  thou  here,  so  wayward  sad, 
Where  leaves  and  grass  grow  summer-glad  ? 
What  dost  thou  here,  day  in  and  out  ? 
Hast  thou  no  task  to  be  about, 
No  thread  to  ply.  no  song  to  sing, 

While  softly  drips  the  spring  ? 

II. 

Thou  art  so  quiet  in  the  shade, 
Shy  creatures  here  play  unafraid  j 
With  carious  looks  they  come  and  go ; 
The  hardy  wood-thrush,  stooping  low, 
Doth  all  but  touch  thee  with  her  wing-. 

O' 

While  softly  drips  the  spring. 

ni. 

Bestir  thyself,  or  thou  shalt  see 
The  ivy  growing  over  thee  ; 
Green  fingers  of  the  gypsy  vine 
Round  thy  white  wasting  fingers  twine, 
And  clasp  thy  wrists  with  many  a  ring, 
While  softly  drips  the  spring. 
(76) 


AT   THE  SPRING.  77 

IV. 

There  came  a  stranger  here  (she  sighed) ,  — 
Hot  noon  it  was,  midsummer  tide  ; 
He  asked  a  draught  of  water  cool 
From  yonder  deep,  untainted  pool, 
Which  gladly  I  did  draw  and  bring. 
Now  bitter  runs  the  spring. 

» 

v. 

He  raised  the  goblet,  kissed  the  edge, 
And  me  within  the  draught  did  pledge : 
"  So  sweet  a  cooling  cup  I  vow 
My  parched  lips  ne'er  touched  till  now  ;  " 
He  gazed  and  said,  low  murmuring. 
Now  bitter  runs  the  spring. 

VI. 

His  words,  so  grave,  did  all  belie 
The  light  of  laughter  in  his  eye  : 
"  Be  here  when  I  return,  full  soon, 
To  serve  again  thy  grateful  boon  ; 
Be  here,"  he  said,  "  to  draw  and  bring." 
Now  bitter  runs  the  spring. 

VII. 

I  wait ;  I  would  not  hence  be  missed  ; 

I  keep  the  goblet  that  he  kissed  ; 

But,  if  he  comes  not,  let  the  vine 

Weave  over  me  its  meshes  fine, 

And  let  the  thrush  kind  strewments  bring. 

Now  bitter  runs  the  spring. 

7* 


THE  ELFIN  KNIGHT. 

Ileer  is  the  queen  of  fayerie, 
With  harp  and  lute  and  symphonye, 
Dwellyng  in  this  place. 

Chaucer, 

I. 

I  HAVE  a  sword  of  temper  true, 
A  coat  of  armor,  bright  and  new, 
A  barb  as  fleet  as  Zephyr's  self : 
I  seek  nor  state  nor  golden  pelf, 
But  that  I  worthy  deeds  may  do. 

Soft  ease  and  pleasures  I  eschew. 
To  be  thy  virgin  knight  I  sue, 
Great  Queen  of  every  fay  and  elf  ! 
What  is  thy  will  ? 

I  see  thee  glassed  in  twinkling  dew, 
And  in  all  waters  still  and  blue  ; 
Thy  tapers  shine  in  glen  and  delf, 
Thy  foot  doth  print  the  sandy  shelf  ; 
I  trace  thee  by  no  doubtful  clue  : 
What  is  thy  will  ? 

H. 

My  sword  was  broken  at  the  heft, 
My  armor  ta'en  by  shameful  theft ; 
(78) 


THE  ELFIN  KNIGHT.  79 

My  steed  of  Barbary  I  lent 
To  one  most  seeming-innocent, 
Who  rode  away  with  promise  deft. 

Was  ever  knight  so  strangely  reft  ? 
Stout  heart  and  hand  alone  are  left, 
And  these  to  thee  I  do  present  : 
I  serve  thee  still. 

Though  all  thine  elves,  in  copse  and  cleft, 
Mock  as  I  pass,  and  spread  a  weft 
To  take  my  feet,  I  fare  content ; 
Though  youth  be  flown  and  fortune  spent, 
Stout  heart  and  hand  to  me  are  left  : 
I  serve  thee  still. 


ACROSS   THE  WORLD  I  SPEAK  TO  THEE. 

ACROSS  the  world  I  speak  to  thee  ; 
Where'er  thou  art  (I  know  not  where), 
Send  thou  a  messenger  to  me  ! 

I  here  remain,  who  would  be  free, 
To  seek  thee  out  through  foul  or  fair  ; 
Across  the  world  I  speak  to  thee. 

Whether  beneath  the  tropic  tree, 
The  cooling  night  wind  fans  thy  hair, 
Send  thou  a  messenger  to  me  ! 

Whether  upon  the  rushing  sea, 
A  foamy  track  thy  keel  doth  wear, 
Across  the  world  I  speak  to  thee. 

Whether  in  yonder  star  thou  be, 
A  spirit  loosed  in  purple  air, 
Send  thou  a  messenger  to  me. 

Hath  Heaven  not  left  thee  memory 
Of  what  was  well  in  mortal's  share  ? 
Across  the  world  I  speak  to  thee ; 
Send  thou  a  messenger  to  me  ! 
(80) 


THE  BIRCH  TREE. 

IN  the  laurel,  so  they  say, 
Timid  Daphne  hides  alway ; 
Atys  sleeps  within  the  pine, 
Lulled  by  melodies  divine  ; 
Cyparissus,  choosing  well, 
Had  the  cypress  for  his  cell ; 
And  the  Daughters  of  the  Sun 
For  their  lodge  the  poplar  won  : 
Who  can  tell  what  spirits  lurk 
In  the  silver-fringed  birk  ? 
Not  I !  for  the  days  are  gone 
When  the  secret  could  be  drawn 
From  the  rugged  heart  of  trees, 
By  a  poet's  sorceries. 
But  if  now  some  Indian  bard 
Might  break  through  the  matted  sward, 
He  could  tell  us,  without  fail, 
Who  't  is  wears  the  birken  mail ! 
(81) 


THE   MOURNING-DOVE. 

LISTEX  !     A  voice  of  tears  from  the  wooded  hill, 
Now  broken  and  lost,  now  waking  its  plaint  anew  ; 
I  heard  it  in  summer's  youth,  I  hear  it  still : 

"  Who,  who,  who  ?  " 

Only  this  ;  but  I  catch  at  the  slender  clue, 
And  follow  it  back  till  I  reach  the  heart  of  a  song : 
"  Who,  who,  who  delays  thee  so  long  ?  " 

"  Who  meets  thee  amid  the  rustling  full-eared  maize  ? 
Who,  where  the  trees  of  strength  their  ripeness  strew, 
Or  where  the  willow  above  her  mirror  sways  ? 

Who,  who,  who  ? 

Who  and  where  ?   I  call  thee,  the  long  day  through  ; 
Come  thou  wouldst,  if  thy  love  as  thy  wings  were 

strong. 
Who,  who,  who  delays  thee  so  long  ?  " 

It  is  the  wild  dove's  vanishing  note  I  hear. 

She  sits  her  nest,  and  darkness  and  sun  and  dew 

Touch  her  soft  throat,  but  never  to  utterance  clear  : 

"  Who,  who,  who  ?  " 

Only  this  ;  but  I  catch  at  the  slender  clue, 
And  follow  it  back  till  I  reach  the  heart  of  a  wrong : 
"  Who,  who,  who  delays  thee  so  long  ?  " 
(82) 


DEAD   LOVE. 

AY,  so  it  is  :  Love  died  of  wrong  ; 
Nor  we  nor  heaven  can  now  revive  him, 
He  needed  not  the  priest  to  shrive  him  ; 
For  this  dead  Love  had  done  no  wrong, 
All  his  life  long. 

Oh,  try  whatever  test  you  will ! 
His  breath  will  never  mist  your  mirror, 
Nor  stir  the  feather  held  down  nearer. 
Oh,  try  whatever  test  you  will ! 

He  's  cold  and  still. 

It  is  not  known  what  death  he  died,  — 
The  world  shall  be  deceived  by  fables  ; 
We  wear  no  cypress  and  no  sables. 
It  is  not  known  what  death  he  died,  — 
That 's  ours  to  hide  ! 

What  if  they  see  his  empty  place  ? 
Then  say,  he  goeth  with  a  message, 
Flying  with  summer  birds  of  passage  ; 
And,  doubtless,  he  '11  return  apace 
To  his  own  place. 
(83) 


84  DEAD  LOVE. 

Revenge  ?     The  heart  is  not  in  me. 
Love,  dying,  smiled  on  his  betrayer  ; 
And  so,  I  cannot  smite  the  slayer,  — 
Ah,  no  !     The  heart  is  not  in  me, 

Dead  though  Love  be. 

I  still  will  love  the  soul  of  Love, 
Though  his  fair  mortal  shape  be  vanished ; 
I  will  not  be  cast  out  nor  banished  ;  — 
I  still  will  love  the  soul  of  Love 
Withdrawn  above. 


OUT  OF  THE   SEA. 

STILL  was  the  night  after  storm  when  a  vision  came 

to  my  pillow,  — 
Up  from  the  never  -  hushed  sea,  dim  -  clothed  in  the 

sweep  of  the  billow. 

Spake  the  gray  presence,  in  voice  like  the  wind  through 
a  cavern  low  sighing  : 

Down  by  the  cliff,  on  the  sands,  a  wonderful  thing  is 
lying  ; 

Not  whiter  the  breast  of  the  swan,  not  brighter  the 
mermaiden's  tresses ; 

In  its  hand  is  a  shell  of  the  waves,  in  its  hair  are  sea 
weeds  and  cresses. 

It  lies,  soft-kissed  by  the  spray,  by  the  murmuring  surf 
overtaken  ; 

Even  the  old  Sea  pities  a  creature  so  fair  and  forsaken ! 

Wave-like  the  vision  receded.  I  followed  its  swift  re 
treating, 

Under  the  cliff,  on  the  sands  ;  but,  O  my  beloved,  what 
a  greeting  ! 

Thou  it  was,  lying  so  cold  and  so  fair,  with  deep  mov 
ing  round  thee  : 

Thus  through  the  storm  thou  hadst  come  to  me,  —  thus 
I  had  found,  and  not  found,  thee ! 
8  (85) 


THE   STIRRUP   CUP. 

THIS  is  vintage  of  the  ages, 
Best  to  cool  the  fever's  rages  ; 
He  that  drinks  it  when  't  is  beading 
Hath  a  quick  and  happy  speeding. 

I  've  known  joy,  and  I  've  known  sorrow, 
Care  that  broods  upon  the  morrow  ; 
I  've  been  trist,  and  I  've  been  merry,  — 
"  Lackaday,"  and  "  hey  down  derry  "  ! 
I  've  been  free,  and  I  've  been  fettered,  — 
Fortunes  ill,  and  fortunes  bettered  ; 
I  've  been  crafty,  I  've  been  simple, 
Courted  Wisdom,  wooed  a  dimple  ! 
I  've  known  faith,  and  I  Ve  known  treason, 
Frost-nipt  flowers  in  suVnmer  season  ; 
I  've  seen  feasts  and  flush  cups  sparkling, 
Guests  dispersed  and  torches  darkling  ; 
I  've  known  Love,  and  ah,  the  pity  ! 
Heard  his  knell  and  funeral  ditty  : 
Hapless  seeing,  fatal  knowing  ! 
Drain  the  cup,  and  I  '11  be  going. 

In  this  vintage,  stored  for  ages, 
I  will  pledge  the  souls  of  sages, 
(86) 


THE  STIRRUP   CUP.  87 

Princes,  heroes,  bards,  and  lovers, 
Whom  the  night  of  Old  Time  covers. 
I  will  drink  as  deep  as  they  did, 
See  the  dreams  their  eyelids  shaded  ; 
I  shall  find  what  planets  hold  them, 
"What  rose-bowers  and  myrtles  fold  them  ; 
I  shall  hear  the  talk  of  sages 
As  they  turn  immortal  pages,  — 
Hear  the  shepherd  pipes  contending 
In  a  tuneful  bout  unending  ; 
I  shall  see  the  dancers  swaying, 
Lovers  in  the  green  wood  straying, 
Children  in  the  fields  a-Maying  : 
Lovely  seeing,  happy  knowing  ! 
Life,  good-by  !     I  would  be  going  ! 


PATMOS. 

ALL  around  him  Patmos  lies, 
Who  hath  spirit-gifted  eyes, 
Who  his  happy  sight  can  suit 
To  the  great  and  the  minute. 
Doubt  not  but  he  holds  in  view 
A  new  earth  and  heaven  new ; 
Doubt  not  but  his  ear  doth  catch 
Strains  nor  voice  nor  reed  can  match  ; 
Many  a  silver,  sphery  note 
Shall  within  his  hearing  float. 

All  around  him  Patmos  lies, 
Who  unto  God's  priestess  flies  : 
Thou,  0  Nature,  bid  him  see, 
Through  all  guises  worn  by  thee, 
A  divine  apocalypse. 
Manifold  his  fellowships  : 
Now  the  rocks  their  archives  ope  ; 
Voiceless  creatures  tell  their  hope 
In  a  language  symbol-wrought ; 
Groves  to  him  sigh  out  their  thought ; 
Musings  of  the  flower  and  grass 
Through  his  quiet  spirit  pass. 
(88) 


PATMOS.  89 

'Twixt  new  earth  and  heaven  new 
He  hath  traced  and  holds  the  clue. 
Number  his  delights  ye  may  not ; 
Fleets  the  year,  but  these  decay  not. 
Now  the  freshets  of  the  rain, 
Bounding  on  from  hill  to  plain, 
Show  him  earthly  streams  have  rise 
In  the  bosom  of  the  skies. 
Now  he  feels  the  morning  thrill, 
As  upmounts,  unseen  and  still, 
Dew  the  wing  of  evening  drops. 
Now  the  frost,  that  meets  and  stops 
Summer's  feet  in  tender  sward, 
Greets  him,  breathing  heavenward. 
Hieroglyphics  writes  the  snow, 
Through  the  silence  falling  slow  ; 
Types  of  star  and  petaled  bloom 
A  white  missal-page  illume. 
By  these  floating  symbols  fine, 
Heaven-truth  shall  he  divine. 

All  around  him  Patmos  lies, 
Who  hath  spirit-gifted  eyes  ; 
He  need  not  afar  remove, 
He  need  not  the  times  reprove, 
"Who  would  hold  perpetual  lease 
Of  an  isle  in  seas  of  peace. 
8* 


OAK-CORN. 

HASTEX,  all  ye  forest-dwellers, 
Crowd  your  garners,  fill  your  cellars  ! 
Oak-corn  bread  and  meat  provideth, 
That  each  careful  creature  hideth 
Where  the  hoar-frost  cannot  taste  it, 
Nor  the  winds  in  winter  waste  it. 
Come  and  gather,  come  and  gather, 
In  the  misty  autumn  weather  ! 

Here  it  was  that  faun  and  satyr, 
Long  ago,  were  used  to  scatter 
Acorns  in  these  shady  alleys, 
Tossing  them  with  sportive  sallies  ; 
Sylvan  in  his  crown  did  bear  them  ; 
All  the  sober  wood-nymphs  wear  them, 
More  esteemed  than  gem  or  jewel. 
Acorns,  rich  in  food  and  fuel, 
Feed  the  flock  and  shepherd's  ingle, 
When  the  frosty  planets  tingle. 
Acorns,  where  old  Merlin  slumbers, 
Sprout  young  oaks,  in  countless  numbers, 
Through  his  mossy  garments  starting, 
His  long  locks  and  gray  beard  parting  ; 
(90) 


OAK-CORN.  91 

While  the  jay  and  squirrel  chatter, 
And  the  ceaseless  showers  patter,  — 
Leaves  and  acorns,  all  together, 
Dropping  in  the  misty  weather. 
When  he  wakens,  how  he  '11  wonder 
At  the  forest  he  sleeps  under  ! 


MOSS. 

DEFT  secreter  of  the  mast, 
Holding  in  thy  meshes  fast 
Russet  burr  and  berry  bright, 
Filmy  seed  new-winged  for  flight,  — 
Whatso'er  the  squirrels  toss, 
As  the  swinging  boughs  they  cross, 
Or  the  birds,  in  greedy  haste, 
From  their  beaks  let  go  to  waste  ! 
Forest,  where  the  hermit  snail 
Has  his  shelly  cloister  frail ; 
Where,  in  still  security, 
Underneath  its  sheltering  tree, 
(Dwindled  likeness  of  the  fir) 
Merry  atom  life  doth  stir  ! 
Plant  of  cool  and  patient  mood, 
'Mong  the  changelings  of  the  wood, 
Still  unchanging  thou  dost  seem, 
Busy  ripening  thine  own  scheme. 
Thou  canst  drink,  or  thirsty  go, 
Bravest  drouth,  or  flood,  or  snow. 
Summer  loves  thee,  courtier  true, 
Spreading  thy  rich  mantle  new 
For  her  royal  feet  to  press. 
Winter  loveth  thee  no  less,  — 
(92) 


MOSki.  93 


Furry  robe  of  frozen  knolls, 
Shaggy  locks  on  aged  boles, 
Where,  in  most  mysterious  ways, 
Air  thy  chosen  food  purveys. 
If  the  sun  but  shine  an  hour, 
Thou  dost  own  his  genial  power ; 
Like  a  sun-glass  out  of  sight, 
But  still  conscious  of  the  light, 
Hidden  savant,  thou  canst  draw 
Warmth  enough  to  make  a  flaw 
In  the  snow  above  thee  spread, 
Pushing  upward  thy  dark  head  ! 
Let  me  heed  thy  thankful  skill 
That  finds  good  in  seasons  ill ; 
Let  me,  too,  O  patient  moss, 
Reckon  gain,  but  never  loss  ! 


NATURE. 

GKEAT  Nature  holds  no  fellowship  with  grief. 
Think  not  the  wind  is  sighing  through  the  sheaf 
For  sorrow  that  the  summer's  race  is  run ; 
Think  not  the  falling  rain  and  shrouded  sun, 
Or  the  white  scourge  of  frost  laid  on  the  ground, 
Are  tokens  that  her  pleasures  are  discrowned 
From  their  brave  empires  in  the  earth  and  sky. 
No  voice  of  naiad,  when  the  stream  is  dry, 
Laments  her  pearly  fish  and  cool-leaved  cresses 
No  dryad  waileth  when  the  goodly  tresses 
Of  the  green  forest-tree  are  shorn  with  fire 
Ye  poets  lean  to  her  with  strong  desire, 
And  are  beloved  !     Yet  though  ye  all  should  die, 
That  live  now  in  the  favors  of  her  eye, 
For  praising  her  with  affluent,  golden  speech, 
The  best  of  you  once  gone,  she  would  not  reach 
One  sunbeam  lower  than  the  daisied  mould, 
Nor  heed  at  all  that  ye  were  dark  and  cold  ! 
And  well  't  is  known  she  gives  her  birds  to  sing 
Jubilant  things,  when  down  on  broken  whig 
Ye  waver  from  your  happy  morning  skies, 
Moans  on  your  lips  and  clouds  before  your  eyes. 
Yet  while  ye  live  and  are  not  hurt  at  heart, 
She  is  your  fellow-reveler,  and  will  part 
94) 


NATURE.  95 

Her  mantle  with  you,  pour  out  nectar  drink, 

And  lead  you,  wondering,  to  the  very  hrink 

Of  gulfy  mysteries,  that  delight  you  trembling  ! 

Or  when  her  giant  tempests  are  assembling, 

Uptake  you  in  her  chariot,  and  drive 

A  breathless  course  where  red-armed  lightnings  strive ; 

And  show  the  forge  where  thunderbolts  are  cast 

And  Cyclops  toiling,  when  the  smoke  blows  past ! 

Or  she  will  read  those  scrolls  gray  trees  have  shed, 

Divining  what  shall  chance  when  they  are  dead  ; 

Or  out  of  rocks,  with  runic  seal  inscribed, 

Draw  strains  of  music  :  every  wind  is  bribed 

To  tell  you  what  their  silver  trumpets  say, 

Blown  at  red  evening  of  an  autumn  day  ! 


LIFE  HATH  PUT  DEATH  AWAY. 

LIFE  hath  put  death  away,  and  mounts  apace. 
Behold,  in  every  winter-wasted  place, 
Arise  the  lovely  children  of  her  race. 

These  keep  the  earth,  and  have  no  thought  to  spare 
Above  their  charge,  —  to  weave  her  raiment  fair  ; 
Those  nod  aloft,  and  jostle  in  the  air. 

And  all  are  glad,  and  none  remembereth 

Its  sojourn  in  the  darksome  house  of  death, 

Its  Teachings  blind  towards  heaven's  light  and  breath. 

Now,  could  the  tender  plant,  this  moment  freed, 
Think  on  the  narrow  chamber  of  the  seed, 
Where  it  was  lodged,  its  joy  were  great  indeed  ! 

Life  hath  put  death  away,  but  straight  forgets 
Her  triumph  :  thee,  O  human  heart,  God  lets 
In  midst  of  joy  recall  thy  grateful  debts. 
(96) 


THE   GRASSHOPPER. 

SHUTTLE  of  the  sunburnt  grass, 
Fifer  in  the  dun  cuirass, 
Fifing  shrilly  in  the  morn, 
Shrilly  still  at  eve  unworn  ; 
Now  to  rear,  now  in  the  van, 
Gayest  of  the  elfin  clan  : 
Though  I  watch  their  rustling  flight, 
I  can  never  guess  aright 
Where  their  lodging-places  are  ; 
'Mid  some  daisy's  golden  star, 
Or  beneath  a  roofing  leaf, 
Or  in  fringes  of  a  sheaf, 
Tenanted  as  soon  as  bound  ! 
Loud  thy  reveille  doth  sound, 
When  the  earth  is  laid  asleep, 
And  her  dreams  are  passing  deep, 
On  mid- August  afternoons  ; 
And  through  all  the  harvest  moons, 
Nights  brimmed  up  with  honeyed  peace, 
Thy  gainsaying  doth  not  cease. 
When  the  frost  comes,  thou  art  dead ; 
We  along  the  stubble  tread, 
9  (97) 


98  TEE  GRASSHOPPER. 

On  blue,  frozen  morns,  and  note 
No  least  murmur  is  afloat : 
Wondrous  still  our  fields  are  then, 
Fifer  of  the  elfin  men  ! 


A  CHARGE  TO  THE  BEES. 

Go  forth,  0  bees,  at  blush  of  prime,  — 
Go  forth,  0  bees,  and  waste  no  time  ; 
Into  the  jeweled  chalice  climb 

Of  every  bloom  that  opens  fresh  this  hour  ; 

And  be  ye  sure  ye  find  the  apple  flower. 

Oh,  slight  the  violet,  if  ye  will, 
And  slight  the  green-gold  daffodil, 
And  hyacinth,  made  sweeter  still 

By  soft  caressings  of  the  midnight  shower ; 

But  see  ye  pass  not  by  the  apple  flower. 

I  could  forgive  ye  that  ye  missed 

The  lilac's  tubes  of  amethyst, 

Lilies,  that  heaven's  breath  has  kissed, 

And  all  the  sweets  in  wildwood  Flora's  bower ; 

But  see  ye  pass  not  by  the  apple  flower. 

0  bees,  though  ye  were  now  released 
To  search  the  gardens  of  the  East, 

1  'd  call  ye  home,  amidst  your  feast : 

I  charge  you,  bring  me  honey  for  my  dower,  — 
Bring  me  the  honey  of  the  apple  flower. 
(99) 


WILD  HONEY. 

IF  I  follow  the  wild  bee  home, 
And  fell  with  a  ringing  stroke 
The  populous  shaft  of  the  oak, 
What  shall  I  taste  in  the  comb 
And  the  honey  that  fills  the  comb  ? 

From  tables  flush  Nature  prepares  ; 

From  hillside,  and  hollow,  and  copse, 

And  blossoming  forest-tops  ; 
From  fallows  the  husbandman  spares, 
Are  borne  to  me  flavorous  aii-s. 

I  shall  taste  the  months  and  the  days 
Of  the  season  that  now  is  done  ; 
I  shall  warm  with  the  wine  of  the  sun, 

Stored,  in  mysterious  ways, 

In  this  secret-builded  maze  ! 

Then  will  I,  tasting,  say,  — 
This  is  arbutus'  gift, 
Reached  from  the  leafy  drift, 

On  a  glistening  April  day  ; 

And  this  is  the  spirit  of  May. 
(100) 


WILD  HONEY.  101 

This,  which  o'erbubbles  the  brim, 
Is  naught  but  the  essence  of  June  ; 
And  this  is  July's  rich  boon  ; 

And  this,  in  which  visions  swim, 

Is  August,  heated  and  dim. 

In  these  amber  wards  repose 
The  life  of  the  summer  hours 
And  the  coined  wealth  of  flowers : 

The  breath  of  the  mint  and  wild  rose 

May  sweeten  the  winter  snows  ! 

Ye  that  embalm  the  year 

With  spices  and  cerements  meet, 

Drop  on  my  lips  such  sweet 
As  fell  on  the  mouth  severe 
Of  the  Theban  poet-seer  : 

Then,  with  a  mellow  tongue, 

In  words  that  have  caught  the  charm 
Of  a  hidden  and  murmuring  swarm, 
I  will  utter  some  notes,  unsung 
Since  time  and  the  world  were  young  ! 
9* 


THE   REFUGE. 

LIKE  one  who  in  the  doorway  stands, 
With  smiling  eyes  and  open  hands, 
This  hostess,  Nature,  welcomes  me. 
With  orient  hospitality, 
She  bids  me  count  all  things  my  own, 
From  airy  roof  to  basement  stone  ; 
Then  clothes  me  in  her  rich  attire, 
And  serves,  herself,  my  mute  desire  : 
"  0  guest,  in  this  my  commonwealth 
Live  Joy,  and  Liberty,  and  Health : 
These  comrades  I  bestow  on  thee  ; 
Be,  therefore,  hale,  and  glad,  and  free." 

There  cometh  no  gainsayer  here, 
I  am  alone  with  the  ripe  year, 
And  creatures  far  too  wise  for  grief, 
Though  summer's  term  be  long  or  brief  ; 
For  here  the  hours  grown  old  are  shed, 
And  no  dark  measure  sung  or  said  ; 
But,  sighing  faint  and  sweet,  they  pass, 
Each  one  leaf-mated,  to  the  grass. 
Right  well  I  know  my  dearest  friends, 
Who  speed  me  towards  all  fittest  ends, 
(102) 


THE  REFUGE.  103 

Nor  spare  reproof,  nor  praise  withhold, 

Gifted  with  voices  manifold. 

They  live  and  move  in  all  delight, 

Joying  in  beauty  and  in  might, 

Nor  know  that  wisdom  speaks  in  them. 

They  wear  the  easy  diadem 

Of  most  unconscious  royalty, 

Nor  fret  at  Time's  large  usury. 

I  came  with  sorrow  in  my  heart,  — 

They  plucked  it  forth,  a  clean-drawn  dart ; 

I  thought  to  find  an  oratory,  — 

They  dressed  their  aisles  and  walls  with  glory, 

And  took  a  prayer  from  off  my  tongue, 

That  God's  high  praises  might  be  sung. 


VERTUMNUS. 

I  TOOK  a  day,  and  sought  for  him 
Through  bosky  aisles  untracked  and  dim, 
Through  cultured  field  and  orchard  sweet :  — 
Did  I  o'ertake  his  flying  feet  ? 

Once,  as  I  crossed  a  sylvan  glade, 
My  step  the  green-brier  would  have  stayed  ; 
The  violet  looked  as  it  would  speak, 
And  the  wild-service,  white  and  meek, 
Against  my  face  its  coolness  laid  ; 
And  once  the  dew  on  bended  blade 
Turned  towards  the  sun  a  sparkling  eye, 
As  flushed  and  eager  I  sped  by. 

As  I  sped  by,  as  I  sped  by,  — 
And  fervid  noon  was  in  the  sky, 
And  sickles  rested  on  the  swath,  — 
One  bearded  stalk  awoke  from  sloth, 
And  lightly  swayed  it  to  and  fro 
Till  all  its  fellows  swayed  arow ; 
And  where  no  breathed  sound  had  been 
Went  bickering  whispers  fine  and  thin. 
(104) 


VERTUMNUS.  105 

As  I  ran  on,  as  I  ran  on,  — 

Some  boughs  grown  bright  and  some  grown  wan, 

And  creeping  leafy  fires  wide  spread,  — 

All  suddenly  the  hazel  shed 

Before  my  feet  its  umbered  mast, 

The  oak  a  shower  of  acorns  cast, 

The  vine  swung  low  its  clusters  blue, 

The  star-flower  elvish  glances  threw. 

Morn  was  when  I  the  chase  began ; 
Close  on  the  evening-bound  I  ran ; 
And,  counting  but  a  rounded  day, 
Lo,  seasons  three  had  slipped  away  ! 
An  hundred  times  the  clue  I  missed, 
Too  rapt  to  pause,  to  look,  and  list,  — 
An  hundred  times,  unweeting,  trod 
Straight  past  the  merry,  masking  god. 


FLOWER  AND  FRUIT. 

IN  the  spring,  perverse  and  sour, 
He  cared  naught  for  hud  or  flower, 
Garden  row  or  blossomed  tree  ; 
Rounded  fruit  he  fain  would  see, 
Vintage  glow  on  sunburnt  hills, 
Bursting  garners,  toiling  mills. 

Sheer  unreason  ! 
Pity  't  were  to  waste  the  blooming  season  ! 

What 's  the  matter  ?     Now  he  sits, 
Deep  in  thought ;  his  brow  he  knits. 
Here  is  fruit  on  vine  and  hough,  — 
Malcontent !      What  seeks  he  now  ? 
Would  have  flowers,  when  flowers  are  none, 
So  in  love  with  springtime  grown  ! 

Sheer  unreason ! 

Pity  't  were  to  waste  the  ripened  season  ! 
(106) 


DEMETER'S   SEARCH. 

FKOM  Enna,  from  Enna,  once  fair  with  the  lily  and 
daffodil's  bloom, 

From  Enna  I  drove  through  the  sea-ways,  rolling  on 
tempest  and  gloom  ; 

Crying,  "  Who  saw  her  ?  Who  saw  the  hot  wheels 
glancing  fire  in  their  round  ? 

Who  saw  the  black  steeds  of  the  night  leaping  on  with 
out  hoof-print  or  sound  ?  " 

Calling,  "  Cora  Persephone,  hear  me  !  Send  >cry  unto 
cry! 

Lost  as  thou  art,  I  will  find  thee,  in  earth,  or  the 
waters,  or  sky  !  " 

Swift  by  the  ice-springs  of  Tanais,  seeking  my  daugh 
ter,  I  came  ; 

Swift  on  the  mountains  of  Ethiope,  swart  with  perpet 
ual  flame : 

I  trod  out  the  oasis  grass,  the  stream  shrank  away  on 
its  bed  ; 

The  maddening  shepherd  looked  up  and  cursed  the 
fierce  sun  overhead. 

I  stooped  from  the  pillars  of  Calpe  to  search  through 
the  gulfs  of  the  west ; 
(107) 


108  DE  METER'S  SEARCH. 

I  troubled  the  peace  of  the  heroes  who  dwell  in  the 

islands  of  rest. 
I  kindled  a  torch,  and  descended,  —  I  peered  in  the 

face  of  the  dead : 

Aghast  and  unnumbered  they  rose,  afar  in  the  dark 
ness  they  fled, 
Blown  with  the   storm  of  my  coming,   scattered   like 

autumn-wan  leaves  ; 
Shrill  was  their  voice  as  the  thin  voice  of  insects  that 

spring  from  the  sheaves. 
Brightening  and  glooming,  I   passed  them  ;    I  brake 

through  the  portals  of  Dis  ; 
Aha  !    I  shed  light  on  those  turrets  built  up  from  the 

moaning  abyss  ! 

There  the  night  hath  no  stars,  but  dim  beacons  that 
flare  in  the  wind  ; 

Black  is  the  spray  of  the  fountain  ;  many  a  river  runs 
blind, 

Pouring  with  hoarse  lamentation  through  measureless 
chasms  below ; 

Bitter  the  sorrowful  fruitage  the  mouldering  orchards 
strew  ; 

111  is  the  growth  of  the  garden,  —  rank  nettle,  and 
nightshade,  and  yew ; 

Bristles  the  turf  like  stubble,  thick-beaded  with  poison 
ous  dew. 

The  portal  is  guarded  by  dragons,  bred  of  the  Stygian 
fen  ; 

Thronged  are  the  lintels  and  rafters  with  all  evil  vis 
ions  of  men ; 


DEMETER'S  SEARCH.  109 

Rich  is  the  throne-chamher,  vaulted  and  paven  with 

thefts  from  the  mine, 

Pictured  with  mystic   Saturnian  story,  forbidden,  di 
vine  ! 
There,  sole  as  a  star,  I  beheld  her,  queen  of  the  night 

and  the  dead, 
Clothed  in  a  veil  of  wan  fire,  with  the  asphodel  flower 

on  her  head. 
In  her  hands  were  the  tributes  of  spirits  new  come  from 

the  ends  of  the  world, 
Garlands  of  bay-leaf  and  roses,  and  tresses  the  Loves 

themselves  curled. 
Me,  weeping  before  her,  she  knew  not,  nor  sprang  with 

glad  tears  to  my  arms, 
Dull,  unremembering,    guarded    by  crafty    Plutonian 

charms. 


Cora  Persephone,  hearken  !     Till  thou  return  with  the 

year, 
No  fountain  shall  flow  out  of  Enna,  no  flower  in  the 

meadows  appear. 
I  have  chidden  thy  sisters  to  silence,  —  their  lips  shall 

be  voiceless  as  thine  ; 
They  shall  not  be  fed  from  the  harvest,  they  shall  not 

be  gladdened  with  wine  ; 
But   slumber  instead,  heavy-lidded,    on   cold   beds  of 

rushes  reclined  : 
None  but  thy  voice  shall  awake  them,  none  but  thy 

hand  shall  unbind. 
10 


110  DEMETERS  SEARCH. 

I  have  punished  the  earth,  that  engulfed  thee,  with  heat 

and  with  torrents  of  rain, 
With  the  worm  at  the  core  of  the  apple,  and  blight  in 

the  ear  of  the  grain  ; 

Lo,  I  have  withholden  the  morsel  from  many  a  famish 
ing  mouth, 
And  stricken  the  singing-bird  on  its  flight  over  sea  to 

the  south. 
I  came  to  a  feast  of  the  sylvans  :  I  smote  them  with 

coldness  and  fear ; 
I  broke   their   sweet   reeds  and   their   timbrels,    and 

touched  their  green  garlands  with  sear. 
I  have  blown  out  the  flame  on  the  altar  :  I  will  that  all 

song  shah1  be  mute,  — 
Mute  as  thou  art,  0  my  daughter,  unreached  by  the 

sound  of  the  lute  ! 


PERSEPHONE. 

MOTHER,  the  harvest  is  garnered  ;   men  taste  of  the 

season's  new  wheat ; 
They  lie  at  thy  banquet  like  gods  till  melody  quickens 

their  feet, 
And  they  rise  and  dance  at  the  call  of  the  vine-crowned 

lord  of  the  hills. 

Maidens  are  gathering  flowers  by  all  the  Sicilian  rills,  — 
The  last  late  flowers  that  kindle    the  meadows  with 

color  of  fire ; 
The  strong  gray  sea  from  his  caverns  and  gulfs  sings  a 

song  of  desire, 

Wooing  the  earth  in  speech  that  was  taught  the  im 
mortals  of  old  ; 
The  wind  with  the  sun  is  at  rest,  and  the  clouds  are  a 

flock  in  the  fold. 

I  have  lived  in  delight  since  winter  retired  to  the  mount 
ains  of  pine  : 

I  came  when  the  grass  was  tender  and  sweet  for  the 
feeding  of  kine  ; 

The  rose  was  not  yet,  the  swallow  and  nightingale  later 
than  I, 

And  love  was  a  spirit  new-born,  whose  birthplace  was 
known  in  the  sky. 

Ill) 


112  PERSEPHONE. 

The  singing  of  zephyr,  the  motion  of  rivers,  the  mani 
fold  noise 
From  cities  of   men,  the  laughter  of   children,  —  all 

these  were  my  joys  ; 
The  cloud  from  the  censer,  large  presents  of  fruit,  and 

the  gladness  of  wine, 
Wild  sounds  that  took  wing  into  heaven  when  poets 

breathed  legends  divine  ! 
Ah,  mother,  I  leave  them,  ah,  ah !  for  a  kingdom  the 

gods  have  not  seen, 
Where  the  streams  are  not  flowing  that  bound  it,  the 

grass  on  the  banks  is  not  green,  — 
For  the   crown  with  the  iron  clasp,  for  the   sceptre 

moulded  of  lead  :  — 
Better  a  slave  on  the  earth  than  a  majesty  swaying  the 

dead ! 

Thou  rememb'rest  my  face,  in  those  days  when  I  came 
from  the  dwelling  of  Night, 

Pallid  and  strange  as  the  Moon  when  she  rides  in  Hy 
perion's  light ; 

These  lips  were  as  waters  bound  up  with  the  frost  in 
the  dead  of  the  year ; 

These  eyes  Avere  as  fountains  the  summer  has  spent, 
for  the  thirst  of  a  tear  : 

So  should  I  seem,  couldst  thou  see  me,  descended  past 
starlight  and  morn, 

While  storms  whistle  out  of  the  east  and  scatter  the 
mildewing  corn  ! 


LITYERSES  AND   THE   REAPERS. 

'T  is  the  field  of  Lityerses  :  ripe  and  high  the  harvest 
stands ; 

Sickles  gleam,  like  summer  lightnings,   all  about  the 
sunny  lands. 

'T  is  the  field  of  Lityerses  :  he,  a  harvest-lord  austere, 

Gathers  whom  he  will  for  reapers,  bringing  them  from 
far  and  near. 

Though  it  be  the  chief  of  legions,  or  descent  of  princes 
great, 

Wealthy  merchant,  speeding  herald,  —  none  shall  pass 
his  palace  gate. 

Forth  he  comes,  with  churlish  greeting,  bids  the  trav 
eler  haste  afield ; 

Though  his  hand  be  strange  and  skilless,  he  a  reaping- 
hook  must  wield, 

From  the   morn   until   the    shadow  thrusting   in  the 
swarthy  grain, 

Where  the  keen  cicada,  whirring,  stings  with  sound  his 
dizzy  brain. 

Hears  he  not,  above  the  clamor,  what  the  hollow  south 
wind  saith? 

Strive  no  longer,  yield  the  contest,  —  this  swift  sickle- 
man  is  Death  ! 

10*  (113) 


114  LITYERSES  AND   TIIE  REAPERS. 

Reapers,  what  shall  be  the  anthem,  as  the  swath  before 
us  falls, 

While  in  air  the  vision  beckons  of  our  native  towers 
and  halls  ? 

Reapers,  what  shall  be  the  banquet,  where  no  harvest- 
home  is  spread  ? 

We  shall  feed  on  endless  slumber,  with  this  alien 
ground  our  bed  ! 

Through  the  sickle  falls  the  poppy,  —  glowing  flower 
and  drooping  bud 

Fall,  and  scatter  down  the  furrow,  like  the  spilth  of 
crimson  blood  : 

So  shall  life  be  shorn  and  scattered  ere  the  star  that 
crowns  the  eve  ; 

They  shall  shudder  at  the  harvest  who  shall  come  to 
bind  and  sheave, 

One  by  one  our  faces  scanning  by  the  gleams  of  west 
ern  sky ; 

Each,  in  passing,  payeth  tribute  from  a  moist  and  pite 
ous  eye.  .  .  . 

Know  ye  not  who  reaps  beside  us  ?  Feel  ye  not  his 
panting  breath  ? 

Brother  reapers,  vain  our  toiling,  —  this  swift  sickle- 
man  is  Death ! 

Lately,  came  Sicilian  Daphnis,  leaving  flock  and  fold 

behind  ; 
Shepherd  of   the  sheltered  valley,  —  he    to  dare  the 

wave  and  wind ! 
Love  and  wrong  his  heart  have  girded  with  a  strength 

unknown  before. 


LITYERSES  AND    THE  REAPERS.  115 

On  the  robber's  track  he  follows,  hither,  to  this  fateful 
shore  ; 

Comes  he  to  the  robber's  fastness,  where  the  maiden 
lies  in  thrall. 

Vain  the  gifts  he  bears  for  ransom,  vain  on  praying 
knees  to  fall ! 

Lityerses  brings  a  sickle  :  "  Reap,  O  guest,  with  me  to 
day  : 

If  thou  conquer,  take  the  maiden ;  if  thou  'rt  conquered, 
thee  I  slay  !  "  .  .  . 

Never,  thou  poor  cheated  Daphnis,  never  shalt  thou  set 
her  free  ; 

Never,  with  thy  prize,  beat  homeward  through  the  high 
exultant  sea. 

Even  now  the  sun  is  sinking,  now  the  shadow  length- 
eneth ; 

Woe  to  us  and  thee,  O  Shepherd,  —  this  swift  sickle- 
man  is  Death ! 


SOMETHING  PASSES. 

SOMETHING  passes  in  the  air, 
That  if  seen  would  be  most  fair ; 
And  if  we  the  ear  could  train 
To  a  keener  joy  and  pain, 
Sweeter  warblings  would  be  heard 
Than  from  wild  Arabian  bird  : 
Something  passes. 

Blithest  in  the  spring  it  stirs, 
Wakes  with  earliest  harbingers  : 
Then  it  peers  from  heart's-ease  faces, 
Clothes  itself  in  wind-flower  graces  ; 
Or,  begirt  with  waving  sedge, 
Pipes  upon  the  river's  edge  ; 
Or  its  whispering  way  doth  take 
Through  the  plumed  and  scented  brake ; 
Or,  within  the  silent  wood, 
Whirls  one  leaf  in  fitful  mood. 
Something  knits  the  morning  dews 
In  a  web  of  seven  hues  ; 
Something  with  the  May-fly  races, 
Or  the  pallid  blow-ball  chases 
Till  it  darkens  'gainst  the  moon, 
Full,  upon  a  night  of  June  : 
Something  passes. 
(116) 


SOMETHING  PASSES.  117 

Something  climbs,  from  bush  or  croft, 
On  a  gossamer  stretched  aloft ; 
Sails,  with  glistening  spars  and  shrouds, 
Till  it  meets  the  sailing  clouds  ; 
Else  it  with  the  s\vallow  flies, 
Glimpsed  at  dusk  in  southern  skies  ; 
Glides  before  the  even-star, 
Steals  its  light,  and  beckons  far. 
Something  sighs  within  the  sigh 
Of  the  wind,  that,  whirling  by, 
Strews  the  roof  and  flooded  eaves 
"With  the  autumn's  dead-ripe  leaves. 
Something  —  still  unknown  to  me  — 
Carols  in  the  winter  tree, 
Or  doth  breathe  a  melting  strain 
Close  beneath  the  frosted  pane  : 
Something  passes. 

Painters,  fix  its  fleeting  lines  ; 
Show  us  by  what  light  it  shines  ! 
Poets,  whom  its  pinions  fan, 
Seize  upon  it,  if  ye  can  ! 
All  in  vain,  for,  like  the  air, 
It  goes  through  the  finest  snare  : 
Something  passes. 


SONNETS. 


DELAY ! 

0  SPIRIT  of  the  Spring,  delay,  delay  ! 
Be  chary  of  thy  gifts  ;  by  slow  degrees 
Roll  back  the  leafy  tide  on  forest  trees  ; 
And  in  all  fields  keep  thou  a  jealous  sway, 
Lest  the  low  grass  break  into  sudden  spray, 
And  clover  toss  its  purples  on  the  breeze. 
Bind  fast  those  lily-buds,  that  prying  bees 
Shall  have  no  entrance,  murmur  as  they  may. 
Scatter  not  yet  the  orchard's  scented  snows, 
Nor  break  the  cage  that  holds  the  butterfly, 
Nor  let  the  blow-ball  wander  up  the  sky  :  — 
What !  flown  so  lightly  ?     By  yon  upstart  rose, 
Summer  is  here  with  all  her  gaudy  shows. 
O  Spirit  of  the  Spring,  good-by,  good-by ! 
(118) 


EPHEMERA. 

MIDGES  and  moths,  —  ay,  all  you  restless  things, 
That  dance  and  tourney  in  the  fields  of  air : 
You,  Psyche's  postman,  trim  and  debonair, 
With  eye-like  freckles  on  your  bronzed  wings  ; 
You,  candle-elves,  whose  strange  emblazonings 
With  sign  of  death  our  ancient  gossips  scare, 
Or  who,  when  sleeps  the  humming-bird,  repair 
With  stealthy  beaks  to  drain  the  honey  springs,  — 
Your  secret 's  out !     I  know  you  for  the  souls 
Of  all  light  loves  that  ever  caused  heartache, 
Still  dancing  suit  as  some  new  beauty  toles  ! 
Nor  can  you  e'er  your  flitting  ways  forsake, 
Till  the  just  winds  strip  off  your  painted  stoles, 
And  sere  leaves  follow  in  your  downward  wake. 
(119) 


THE   FOUNTAINS  OF  THE  RAIN. 

THE  merchant  clouds  that  cruise  the  sultry  sky, 
As  soon  as  they  have  spent  their  freight  of  rain, 
Plot  how  the  cooling  thrift  they  may  regain  : 
All  night  along  the  river-marsh  they  lie, 
And  at  their  ghostly  looms  swift  shuttles  ply, 
To  weave  them  nets  wherewith  the  streams  to  drain 
And  often  in  the  sea  they  cast  a  seine, 
And  draw  it,  dripping,  past  some  headland  high. 
Many  a  slender  naiad,  with  a  sigh, 
Is  in  their  arms  uptaken  from  the  plain ; 
The  trembling  myrmidons  of  dew  remain 
No  longer  than  the  flash  of  morning's  eye, 
Then  back  unto  their  misty  fountains  fly : 
This  is  the  source  and  journey  of  the  rain. 
(120) 


FROST. 

How  small  a  tooth  hath  mined  the  season's  heart ! 
How  cold  a  touch  hath  set  the  wood  on  fire, 
Until  it  blazes  like  a  costly  pyre 
Built  for  some  Ganges  emperor,  old  and  swart, 
Soul-sped  on  clouds  of  incense  !     Whose  the  art 
That  webs  the  streams,  each  morn,  with  silver  wire, 
Delicate  as  the  tension  of  a  lyre,  — 
Whose  falchion  pries  the  chestnut-burr  apart  ? 
It  is  the  Frost,  a  rude  and  Gothic  sprite, 
Who  doth  unbuild  the  Summer's  palaced  wealth, 
And  puts  her  dear  loves  all  to  sword  or  flight ; 
Yet  in  the  hushed,  unmindful  winter's  night 
The  spoiler  builds  again  with  jealous  stealth, 
And  sets  a  mimic  garden,  cold  and  bright. 
11  (121) 


EQUINOX. 

"The  night  of  time  far  surpasseth  the  day  ;    and  who  knows  when  was 
the  equinox?  " 

FIRST,  winds  of  March  must  blow  and  rains  must  beat, 
Thick  airs  blend  wood,  and  field,  and  distant  hill, 
Before  the  heavy  sky  has  wept  its  fill ; 
And,  like  a  creeping  sloth,  the  chill  must  eat 
Down  close  to  Nature's  core ;  in  dull  repeat 
The  days  move  on  with  scanted  light  until, 
Far  shining  from  his  western  window-sill, 
Some  evening  sun  full  face  to  face  we  meet ! 
And  then  we  say  the  line  is  crossed  :  the  feud 
Between  Old  Night  and  Day  adjusted  stands, 
As  in  a  balance  swung  by  airy  hands 
Above  the  clouds.     Our  fancies  are  but  crude, 
And  lightly  gossip  of  infinitude  : 
None  knows  how  wide  the  arch  of  Night  expands  ! 
(122) 


PYRRHUS'  RING. 

I  MARVEL  much  about  this  wondrous  ring : 
Plain  gold  the  circlet,  set  with  agate  stone, 
On  which  were  graved,  by  Nature's  craft  alone, 
Pierian  streams  and  trees,  Apollo  king, 
And  all  the  Muses  as  in  act  to  sing. 
Not  only  was  each  lovely  presence  known 
By  form,  and  robe,  and  mien,  but  one  would  own 
The  lyre  was  there,  nor  wanting  any  string  ! 
'T  was  lost,  with  other  precious  things  of  old,  — 
A  long  time  lost,  till  some  poor  husbandman 
Upcast  it,  gleaming,  from  a  fallow  mould, 
And  to  a  sordid  lapidary  sold. 
I  know  not  all  the  chance  and  change  it  ran ; 
At  last,  a  poet  was  its  sacristan  ! 
(123) 


HOMESICK. 

THIS  were  a  miracle,  if  it  could  be  ! 
If,  never  loitering  since  the  prime  of  day, 
Since  kissing  the  cool  lips  of  Northern  May, 
This  drowsy  wind  at  evening  brought  to  me 
The  fragrant  spirit  of  the  apple-tree  ; 
Or  if  so  far  sweet  sounds  could  make  their  way, 
That  I  should  hear  the  robin's  twilight  lay 
Float  o'er  a  thousand  leagues  of  foamy  sea ! 
Now,  save  I  know  those  eyes  exchange  no  beams 
With  yonder  star  (so  curves  the  earth  between), 
I  'd  say,  My  friend  doth  from  his  casement  lean, 
And  charge  Canopus,  by  his  pilot-gleams, 
To  bear  love  to  my  port,  and  lovely  dreams 
Of  homeward  slopes  new-clothed  with  summer  green. 
(124) 


MASTER  SPIRITS. 


E  know  them,  though  they  wander  in  disguise, 
Their  crowns  put  off,  their  purples  laid  aside  ; 
The  open  presence  cannot  shift  nor  hide  : 
Where'er  they  go,  some  men  will  recognize 
The  gracious  hands  where  all  their  fealty  lies, 
And  cry  discovery  !  For  their  brows  are  wide, 
And  front  all  circumstance  with  tempered  pride  ; 
Heaven's  full  serenity  is  in  their  eyes. 
Whate'er  they  do,  that  labor  's  consecrate  ; 
Where  they  have  dwelt  are  rich  memorials  hung, 
And  holy  vows  recorded,  triumphs  sung. 
They  know  nor  want  nor  surfeit  ;  their  estate 
They  cannot  overdraw  nor  alienate  ; 
Their  youth  is  never  past,  and,  dying,  they  die  young. 
11*  (125) 


SOLITUDE. 

"Every  man's  imagination  hath  its  friends." 

HE  who  must  lead  his  life  where  life  began 
(Amid  the  mountains  or  still  inland  plains), 
If  he  desire  to  visit  marts  and  fanes 
In  storied  cities,  pilgrim  goals  of  man, 
Will  oft  behold  their  visionary  plan 
Sketched  in  the  summer  clouds'  slow-moving  trains  ; 
Or,  longing  for  the  sea,  will  hear  its  strains, 
When  stormy  woods  break  out  with  praise  to  Pan. 
So,  he  who  lives  unfriended  and  remote, 
Hath  liberal  Fancy  serving  his  desire  : 
On  every  wind  kind  salutations  float, 
To  him  addressed ;  and  oft  his  heart  takes  fire 
At  rumor  of  some  masterful  emprise, 
Wrought  on   the    earth,  and   anthemed   through   the 
skies ! 

(126) 


OCCASION. 

"  0  THOU  good  Genius  of  my  life,  attend  " 
(Thus  prayed  I),  "  countenance  and  grant  my  prayer, 
Give  me  Occasion !     Lo,  how  I  prepare 
For  deeds  of  prowess  !     Let  me  now  defend 
Invested  citadels,  or  else  descend 
The  hollows  of  the  sea,  and  westward  fare 
Till  I  a  hidden  continent  lay  hare, 
And  to  the  stars  and  time  my  name  commend  !  " 
"  Thou  child  and  simple  yet !  "  the  Genius  saith, 
"  Of  this  he  well  advised  :  since  time  began, 
Occasion  runneth  in  advance  of  man 
Small  pace  at  first,  but  ever  quickeneth, 
Nor  stays  for  gifts,  or  vows,  or  prayerful  breath ; 
Some  fall  behind,  some  leap  into  the  van." 
(127) 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

To  me  thy  house  is  haunted,  grieving  friend  : 
A  white  enchantment  in  the  moonlight  falls, 
Floats  on  the  walks,  makes  beautiful  the  walls ; 
Up  to  thy  windows  fruited  branches  send 
Their  evening  incense  ;  sighing  elves  attend 
The  flowers  amid  the  grass  ;  within  thy  halls 
A  voice  of  airy  melody  still  calls, 
And  down  the  stairways  the  immortals  bend. 
Oh,  well  I  know  what  spell  enfolds  the  place : 
What  lovely  truants,  on  a  winter's  day, 
Caught  sight  of  fairer  lands,  and  slipped  away, 
Leaving  about  thy  home  a  mystic  grace, 
Motions  and  murmurs  without  certain  trace, 
While  far  from  here,  and  farther  yet,  they  stray. 
(128) 


ROTATION. 

0  ALL  ye  myriads  in  the  ages  dead, 
Princes  and  peoples,  great  in  power  and  trust, 
And  great  in  love,  —  all  dwindled  to  fine  dust ! 
Must  wolfish  Time  with  such  as  you  be  fed, 
That  living  men  awhile  may  keep  ahead 
Upon  the  hitter  road,  where  ill  and  just 
Hear,  as  they  run,  the  hollow  panting  gust 
From  fangs  of  hunger  never  surfeited  ? 

No  !  live  again,  brave  world  (I  would  have  said), 
Nor  for  our  vantage  in  the  breach  be  cast,  — 

1  could  have  wept  for  pity  of  you,  dead, 
But  I  remembered  our  own  fate  instead,  — 
How,  to  the  age  that  springs  before  us  fast, 
We  shall  become  the  sacrificial  Past. 

(129) 


REVENGE. 

Lo  !  I  will  hate  my  enemy,  yet  breathe 
No  curse  to  bring  the  lightning  on  his  head, 
Or  break  the  earth  in  pitfalls  ;  I  will  tread 
Anear  his  sleep,  and  keep  my  wrong  in  sheath. 
So  David  bent  o'er  Saul,  couched  on  the  heath 
In  woody  Ziph,  and  there  he  might  have  sped 
The  dreaming  soul  to  greet  the  unjust  dead, 
But  left  him  to  that  fate  he  stooped  beneath. 
O  Heaven,  there  is  but  one  revenge  full  sweet,  - 
That  thou  shouldst  slay  him  in  my  memory, 
Whose  bitter  words  and  ways  abide  with  me  ; 
Then,  for  all  surety  that  we  shall  not  meet 
In  the  overworld,  make  thou  my  spirit's  feet 
Move  trackless  through  the  blessed  nebulae  ! 

(130) 


POVERTY. 

0  POVERTY,  if  thou  and  I  must  wed, 

1  '11  surely  try  to  sing  thee  into  fame  ; 

I  '11  call  thee  many  a  high-descended  name, 
To  shed  a  lustre  on  thy  dowerless  head ; 
Say  thou  'rt  a  royal  maiden,  Spartan  bred, 
Early  bound  out  to  a  harsh  foster-dame, 
My  keen-eyed  Hardihood  !     A  worthy  shame 
I  '11  have  of  all  those  cates  on  which  I  fed 
Before  I  found  a  zest  for  thy  plain  food. 
I  laugh  to  think  how  we  shall  entertain 
Our  friends  from  Sybaris,  with  all  their  train, 
On  nuts  and  berries  from  the  underwood  ; 
"We  '11  have  our  floor  with  rushes  daily  strewed, 
And  patch  the  roof  with  boughs  against  the  rain. 
(131) 


THE  OREAD. 

SHE  dwells  upon  the  fountained  heights  serene, 
I  by  the  broadening  river's  sullied  flow  ; 
She  could  not  breathe  the  air  we  breathe  below, 
Nor  we  the  air  that  wraps  her  pure  demesne. 
Light  loves  her ;  there  the  morning  first  is  seen, 
There  long  delays  the  wistful  afterglow  ; 
Above  her  gleams  the  fountain-feeding  snow, 
Beneath  are  forests  all  the  twelvemonth  green. 
She  dwells  afar ;  yet  still  the  river  sings 
What  she  has  sung  above  its  cradle  bright ; 
I  look,  and  lo  !  the  swarthy  current  brings 
An  alpine  bloom  slipped  through  her  fingers  white ; 
But  not  until  the  rivers  seek  their  springs 
May  any  gift  of  mine  achieve  her  height. 
(132) 


ON  THE  SONNET. 

GRANT  me  twice  seven  splendid  words,  0  Muse 
(Like  jewel  pauses  on  a  rosary  chain, 
To  tell  us  where  the  aves  start  again)  ; 
Of  these,  in  each  verse,  one  I  mean  to  use  — 
Like  Theseus  in  the  labyrinth  —  for  clues 
To  help  lost  Fancy  striving  in  the  brain ; 
And,  Muse,  if  thou  wilt  still  so  kindly  deign, 
Make  my  rhymes  move  by  courtly  twos  and  twos  ! 
Oh,  pardon,  shades  of  Avon  and  Vaucluse, 
This  rush-light  burning  where  your  lamps  yet  shine  ! 
A  sonnet  should  be  like  the  cygnet's  cruise 
On  polished  waters  ;  or  like  smooth  old  wine, 
Or  earliest  honey  garnered  in  May  dews  ! 
And  all  be  laid  before  some  fair  love's  shrine  ! 
12  (133) 


TO  SLEEP. 

LIGHT  Vanisher,  all  weary  as  I  am, 
Uplift  me  now,  and  let  us  be  away  ! 
Find  out  those  regions  where  our  angels  stay 
When  they  attend  not  here  ;  meadows  of  calm, 
With  lilies  bloomed,  and  bee-contenting  balm,  — 
The  stream-side  violet,  and  the  dancing  fay  ! 
Or  dost  thou  show  me  a  fair,  courtly  fray, 
Plumed  knights,  gay  steeds,  and  waving  oriflamme  ? 
Sometimes  thou  leav'st  us  laughing  on  the  night, 
In  wondrous  vacant  mirth ;   sometimes  in  tears, 
Wide-eyed,  and  groping  for  the  window  light ; 
And  often  with  strange  music  in  our  ears, 
Born  of  the  sky  on  some  old,  fabled  height, 
Voices  of  spirits,  or  the  morning  spheres. 
(134) 


ON  SEVERN'S  LAST  SKETCH  OF  KEATS. 

AXGEL  of  Sleep  or  Death  !  whom  hast  thou  here, 
With  meek  head  drooped,  all  haggard  and  outworn  ! 
So  looked  Leander,  to  the  startled  morn, 
Left  by  the  tide  on  sands  and  rushes  sere  ; 
And  so  looked  Hyacinth,  to  Phoebus  dear, 
As  on  the  sward  he  lay,  by  envy  shorn  ; 
So  looked  Rome's  martyr  youth  to  burial  borne 
Within  some  delved  cavern,  chill  and  drear. 
O  fair  death-sleeper !  gazing  on  thee  now, 
Forgetting  all  thy  years  profound  of  rest 
In  peaceful  barrow  by  the  daisy  drest, 
We  keep  a  vigil,  —  by  thy  pillow  bow, 
And  listen,  smiling  through  our  tears,  when  thou 
Murm'rest  of  flowers  that  spring  above  thy  breast. 
(135) 


DAWN. 

WHEN  up  from  low,  mist-gathering  lands  of  sleep 
I  come,  and  meet  the  chastening  looks  of  dawn, 
A  swift,  transcendent  change  I  have  undergone, 
Like  those  who  in  Lethean  coolness  steep 
Their  temples,  and  forget  to  moan  and  weep ; 
For  every  mortal  thorn  is  then  withdrawn, 
And  they  shall  put  supernal  garments  on, 
And  have  in  Heaven  new  planet-realms  to  keep  ! 
So  do  I  drink  of  dawn,  until  I  rise, 
And  hail  my  kindred  of  the  morning  air  : 
The  wind,  that  strips  the  darkness  from  the  skies, 
The  dew,  that  tremblingly  the  blossoms  bear 
And  fear  to  spill :  —  all  spirit  now  am  I, 
And  nothing  that  can  grieve,  or  change,  or  die. 
(136) 


TO  FAME. 

i. 

IT  grieves  not  us  that,  by  the  trumpet's  vaunt, 

Thou  breathest  not  our  name  :  for  who  would  choose 

Henceforth  to  wear  thee  with  those  garish' hues 

Thou  lov'st  in  court  and  market-place  to  flaunt  ? 

So  many  mouths,  all  open  for  descant, 

So  many  jangling  tongues  as  thou  dost  use, 

Who  would  endure  ?     Yet  are  there  gloating  crews 

Who  in  this  uproar  hear  the  sirens'  chant. 

To  gain  thy  voice,  they  've  tumbled  cities  down  ; 

Made  earth  blush  red  with  waste  of  valiant  blood  ; 

Through  desert  inlands  traced  a  river's  flood, 

At  last  within  the  mystic  source  to  drown  ; 

Or,  attic-lodged  above  the  bustling  town, 

Have  dreamed  of  laurels  pushing  into  bud. 

n. 

Yet  listen,  though  our  prayer  be  something  strange  ! 
Show  us  no  favor  for  the  passing  day, 
To-morrow,  or  so  long  as  we  shall  stay 
Within  the  pleasant  light ;  but  when  the  change 
That  ends  all  changes  sweeps  us  in  its  range, 
And  we  are  gone  upon  the  ancient  way 
Where  Night  and  Silence  hold  enduring  sway, 
12*  (137) 


138  TO  FAME. 

Let  these  not  hide  us  wholly,  nor  estrange  ! 
Then,  spirit-like,  go  speak  us  dear  to  those 
Who  shall  hereafter  in  our  places  dwell,  — 
Whom  we  had  loved,  and  who  had  loved  us  well, 
Could  we  have  tarried  for  them  !     Charge  the  rose 
With  speech  for  us,  and  to  the  stream  that  flows 
Through  our  lost  meadows  lend  a  voiceful  spell. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGION 


A     000  677  074     7 


